IIIKIIIV 

LIBRARY 

I      UNIVERSITY  Of 
\CAUfORNIA 


•/./- 


YANKEE  COURTSHIP 


MINNIE  MYRTLE 


THE 


MYRTLE  WREATH, 


OR 


STRAY    LEAVES    RECALLED 


H  P«e.  lljriJe,  r*"1* 


NEW  YORK: 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER,  145  NASSAU  ST. 
t«54. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1854,  by 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


TOBITT'S  COMBINATION-TYPE, 
181  William  at. 


B.    ORAIOHBAD,    PRINTER, 

63    VE8EY    STREET.    N.    1 


GIFT 


952, 


6 


T  O 

HENRY   J .    RAYMOND, 
Editor  N.  Y.  Daily  Times, 

HER  CORDIAL  AND  GENEROUS  FRIEND, 

2T  5  e    Cg?  r  e  a  1 1) , 

WHICH  HIS  APPROBATION  FIRST  ENCOURAGED  HER  TO  TWIXE, 

IS  RESPECTFULLY  AND  GRATEFULLY  DEDICATED 

BY 

THE   AUTHOR. 


615 


CONTENTS. 


A  Word  to  my  Readers                            &  .7 

My  Children           .           .           .       ,    .  .  \             n 

The  Picture  with  Two  Faces        ....  16 

Thanksgiving  in  the  Great  Emporium     .  .  .    '          21 

Neighbors               .         '  .         \           .  V  .              27 

Cincinnati  in  March           .            .           .  '",  31 

To  an  Infant  Playing  with.a  Sunbeam     .  .  ,34 

A  Word  about  Music         .           .           .  .  .             36 

Love  and  Money    ....  .  .             38 

Song  of  the  Cossack           .           r           »  i  .             52 


Jv.  CONTENTS. 

The  Unwelcome  Baby        .....  55 

A  Steamboat  on  the  Ohio  .  •  •  •  C2 

An  Incident  by  the  Way 67 

My  Mother 72 

Terms  of  Reproach  .  •  •  •  •  7G 

A  Yankee  Courtship         . 

The  Breaking  Heart          . 

A  Word  for  Woman  . 

Christmas  is  Coming          . 

Solitary  Musings  upon  Solitude    .... 

My  Garden  Flowers          .  10G 

Two  Mothers— the  False  and  the  True     .  109 

Literary  Women    . 

A  Brother's  Love  and  Gratitude  „  • 

A  Little  Child  Shall  Teach  Them  .  .          .•  125 

The  Heart  i  •  • 

Introductions  •  •  •          • 

First  Impressions  upon  the  Mississippi 

Tie  &ory  a  Thousand  Times  Told— Yet  Always  New   .  137 

A  Chapter  on  Love  ...  • 

Country  Cousins     .  .  .  •  •  • 

Our  Baby    .  .    "       .  •  •  •  15° 

The  Clearing        .  ~  •  •  •'  ^ 

A  Husband's  Soliloquy     .  .  •  • ,          •• 

Dress,  Houses,  and  Housework     ...»  I66 


CONTENTS.  V 

The  True  Hero      .           .           .           ...           .  169 

A  Hint  to  Housekeepers    .....  173 

Eeturn  to  My  Country,  Translated  from  the  French  of 

Beranger      .           .           .-           *           .           .  176 

Ellen  S ,  Or  Marrying  for  a  Homo      .           .           .  181 

Some  Wicked  Thoughts  I  had  in  Church            .           .  201 

Thanksgiving         .           .           .           .           .           .  206 

Thoughts  at  the  Croton  Fountains           .           ,           .  209 

She  is  a  Fashionable  "Woman,  and  ought  not  to  bo  Married  212 

Thoughts  on  the  Prairie  in  Spring           .           .           .  216 

The  Family  Room             .           .           .            ,            .  220 

One  of  Life's  Contrasts      .....  228 

•<fr 

The  Healing           .           ,v        ,           ...           .  234 

Strange  Things  which  I  have  Seen  and  Heard   •           .  236 

Thrilling  Incident  and  Visit  to  an  Artist's  Studio          .  239 

Poor  Little  Robert 243 

A  Solitary  Ride  on  the  Prairie    ....  249 

What's  in  a  Name              .           .'          .           .           .  258 

My  Own  Little  Corner       .           . .         .           .           .  264= 

Another  Reverie  in  a  Lone  Corner        •  •           •           •  267 

A  Woman's  Toil     .           .                                 .           .  272 

Bill  and  Little  Amy          .          V          .           .           »  277 

The  Bachelor's  Bedroom               •           .           .           .  283 

Kitty  Grey — Or,  I  Have  Beauty  Enough  to  Carry  Me 

Through  the  World             .           .            .       'f'.  287 

The  Little  Match  Girl  297 


Vi.  CONTENTS. 

A  July  Niglit  on  The  Upper  Mississippi  .  .  •  303 

A  Hint  to  the  Lords  of  Creation  .  ...  307 

The  Little  Boy  with  Faggots        .  .  i  .  312 

Our  Valley  .          .  ..,         •  32° 

Amelia        •  .          ^  .*..,..        •  V.       344 

The  Winter  Boquet  .'....  354 

Conversation  as  an  Art     .  357 

Is  She  Happy 364 

Adventures  of  a  Snowflake  .  .  .  .  3G9 


to  ing 


WHAT  excuse  shall  I  make  in  behalf  of  my 
"scattered  leaves,"  for  gathering  together  and 
twining  themselves  into  a  "  Wreath,"  and  aspiring  to  a 
place  among  the  "  Floras"  and  u  Grandifloras,"  with 
which  the  gardens  of  literature  are  just  now  teeming? 
Many  fears  I  have  that  it  will  be  thrown  into  the  shade 
by  the  "  leaves"  and  "  fragrant  blossoms"  in  the  midst 
of  which  it  has  sprung  up,  and  that,  although  it  should 
prove  an  evergreen,  it  will  scarcely  be  thought  \vorthy 
to  occupy  the  back  ground  among  the  bright  garlands 
which  thought  and  fancy  are  weaving  and  presenting  in 
such  beautiful  relief  to  our  view. 

(7) 


8  THE   MYRTLE    WREATH. 

The  author  had  nothing  else  to  do,  and  so  stie  wrote, 
and  when  she  had  gone  but  a  little  way  in  this  pleasant 
path,  there  came  to  her  from  many  hearts  which  she 
knew  not,  the  voice  of  gratitude  for  some  drop  of  balm 
which  fell  upon  a  wounded  spirit,  or  a  word  of  merri 
ment  which  charmed  dull  care  away,  and  lightened  the 
leaden  wing  of  sorrow.  It  was  a  holy  mission — and 
she  went  on  scattering  more  widely  the  flowers  she  had 
culled,  hoping  and  earnestly  praying,  they  might  do 
good  wherever  they  fell. 

Imagination  and  fancy  have  had  little  to  do  with 
these  sketches — her  motto  is  TRUTH.  Wherever  a  story 
or  incident  is  related,  it  is  given  as  it  actually  occurred, 
and  she  has  trespassed  a  little  upon  an  untried  path,  in 
thinking  it  possible  and  proper  to  write  true  love 
stories  ! 

It  has  ever  been  the  custom  for  a  portion  of  the 
Christian  community  to  condemn  all  fiction  as  perni 
cious,  while  nothing  has  been  supplied  in  its  place ;  and 
though  these  condemnations  have  been  uttered  for  cen 
turies,  fiction  of  every  kind  has  been  multiplying  a 
thousand-fold,  and  the  libraries  of  even  Christian  people 
are  filling  with  "  popular  novels."  And  it  will  conti 
nue  so  to  be  till  truth  is  presented  in  a  more  pleasing 
garb,  and  made  more  attractive  in  the  eyes  of  the 
young.  They  resort  to  novels  for  sympathy,  to  learn 
the  history  of  hearts  like  their  own,  for  it  is  a  lamenta- 


A  WOIID  TO  MY  READERS. 

ble  truth  that  Biographies  represent  human  beings  so 
different  from  any  thing  we  actually  see  in  this  world, 
that  there  is  very  little  encouragement  to  aim  "to  be 
like  unto  them." 

It  is  thought  sufficient,  in  religious  Biographies  espe 
cially,  to  give  a  history  of  the  intellect.  The  heart  is 
treated  as  if  it  were  an  "  accursed  thing."  How  many 
times  have  I  heard  young  people  exclaim,  that  they  had 
searched  the  lives  of  eminent  men  and  women  in  vain, 
to  find  that  they  ever  had  thoughts  and  feelings  like 
their  own.  Their  domestic  history  is  a  sealed  book. 
What  we  wish  most  to  know — the  every-day  life  of 
those  with  whose  public  acts  we  are  familiar — is  scarce 
ly  alluded  to.  If  a  great  man  had  affections  and  heart 
joys  and  sorrows,  it  is  not  thought  proper  to  speak  of 
it.  It  is  merely  recorded  that  "  he  was  married  at  such 
an  age,  to  an  estimable  woman,  with  whom  he  lived 
so  many  years,  and  who  died  leaving  him  so  many  chil 
dren  !" 

It  would  be  of  no  great  use  to  cry  hush  to  a  volcano, 
and  it  is  quite  as  futile  to  bid  the  hearts  of  children 
cease  to  beat  quick  and  warm — for  each  other  !  They 
cannot  be  content  with  books  which  only  endeavor  to 
expand  the  mind  and  teach  the  religion  of  the  soul. 
While  they  are  human  they  must  have  human  sympa 
thy,  and  in  the  book  which  God  Himself  has  written, 

there  is  no  such  silence  concerning  the  "  daily  walk  and 
I* 


10  THE    MYRTLE  WREATH. 

conversation  of  the  persons  whose  history  it  gives,  in 
the  most  intimate  relationships  of  life. 

If  my  little  book  shall  do  something  towards  proving 
that  the  truth  may  be  written  about  the  heart  as  well 
as  the  head,  and  that  love  may  be  talked  about  in  prose 
as  well  as  in  poetry,  it  will  have  accomplished  its 
mission. 

The  readers  of  the  "  New  York  Daily  Times,"  "  The 
Independent,"  "  The  Troy  Post,"  and  "  The  National 
Era,"  will  recognise  many  of  the  sketches.  Most  of  the 
poems  have  appeared  in  several  different  Journals,  over 
different  signatures,  and  the  critics  will  doubtless  find  an 
abundance  of  faults  in  them  all.  It  will  not  be  amiss, 
perhaps,  to  say,  that  I  have  not  written  to  instruct  the 
wise,  and  have  no  ambition  to  write  learnedly.  I  have 
hoped  to  impress  the  heart,  and  to  amuse,  believing  this 
to  be  emphatically  "  woman's  mission."  Yet  I  have  not 
on  this  account  thought  it  of  little  consequence  how  I 
wrote.  I  have  written  as  well  as  I  knew  how ! 

To  know  that  the  "  Myrtle  Wreath"  is  welcome  to 
"  hearts  and  homes,"  will  sufficiently  gladden  tier  who 
has  twined  it — and  may  it  do  no  evil  if  it  should  do  no 
good,  is  the  prayer  of  her  who  sends  it  forth  with  many 
fears  and  tremblings. 


AN  old  lady  sat  in  the  arm-chair  by  the  fire  with  a 
full  quilled  cap  border  around  her  withered  but 
very  pleasant  and  motherly-looking  face,  a  three  cor 
nered  blue  'kerchief  pinned  neatly  over  her  shoulders, 
and  a  wide  old-fashioned  full-gathered  apron  tied  round 
her  waist,  with  a  white  tape  string,  and  the  Bible  on 
her  knee. 

I  had  been  out  making  calls,  and  when  I  entered  the 
room,  I  said,  "  I  have  seen  a  great  number  of  my  chil 
dren  to-day,  aunt  Eachael ;  almost  everywhere  I  went 
I  found  one  or  more,  and " 


12  THE  MYRTLE.  WREATH. 

"  Your  children !"  exclaimed  the  astonished  good 
woman,  "  Your  children,  I  did  not  know  you  had  any 
children,"  and  she  looked  as  if  she  thought  I  ought  to 
be  blushing  with  shame,  instead  of  looking  very  proud 
and  gratified. 

"  Why,  Aunt  Rachael,  did  I  never  tell  you  about  my 
children,  such  a  troop  of  them  as  I  have,  too — of  all 
ages  and  sizes,  and  conditions — why,  I  thought  you 
knew  all  about  it." 

Never  did  I  see  a  placid  countenance  so  transformed. 
She  looked  perfectly  aghast,  as  she  took  her  steel- 
bowed  spectacles  from  her  nose,  and  laid  them  upon 
the  great  book,  while  her  aged  hand  trembled  like  an 
aspen. 

I  pitied  her,  indeed  I  did,  but  I  was  wicked  enough 
to  assume  an  air  of  humility  as  I  said,  "  Oh,  but  Aunt 
Rachael,  it  is  all  about  now,  so  I  might  as  well  confess 
it  openly — and  surely  you  will  not  condemn  mo  before 
you  hear  my  story." 

"  Children,  and  all  about — what  do  you  mean  ?  toll 
me,  and  why  have  I  not  known  it  before  ?" 

"  0  you  know  we  do  not  want  to  trouble  you  with 
all  the  foolish  things  that  are  done  in  the  world.  You 
would  have  no  rest  day  or  night — and  to  know  that  I 
had  become  the  'town's  talk,'  why  it  would  have  been 
the  death  of  you." 

Here  I  smiled,  and  tho  good  old  lady  bco-an  to  sus- 


MY    CHILDREN.  13 

pect  I  was  talking  nonsense  (no  new  thing  for  me,)  and 
her  face  assumed  its  usual  complacency,  though  she 
was  still  in  darkness  concerning  my  strange  announce 
ment. 

"  But  they  are  black,  Aunt  Eachael,  black  as  ink — 
and  some  people  say  they  are  shocking  story  tellers — 
that  they  never  know  when  to  believe  them.  Yet  I 
have  always  taught  them  to  tell  the  truth,  and  am  very 
sure  they  always  do." 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  the  good  lady,  "  I  can  well  imagine 
if  they  are  at  all  like  you,  how  they  tell  the  truth,  just 
as  you  have  been  telling  it  to  me  this  morning." 

"Indeed,  have  I  told  you  anything  but  the  truth? — 
Now  I  am  sure  there  is  not  a  bit  of  fiction  about  it." 

"  No,  but  you  give  it  such  a  flourish  and  cover  it  with 
such  a  gloss,  that  it  would  be  difficult  distinguishing  it 
from  its  coloring." 

"  And  this  is  just  what  the  Rhetoric  tells  us  to  do — 
and  surely  the  Rhetoric  must  know ;  when  we  talk,  we 
colour  with  the  tones  of  our  voice  and  the  light  of  our 
eyes,  and  the  change  of  our  countenances ;  that  is,  we 
give  expression  to  what  would  otherwise  be  intolerably 
stupid — and  when  we  write,  we  must  color  with  the 
tones  and  changes  of  language,  or  our  thoughts,  though 
ever  so  good,  would  be  intolerably  prosy,  and  nobody 
would  read  them  at  all,  and  what  is  the  use  of  writing, 
what  nobody  will  read  V" 


14  THE   MYRTLE  WREATH. 

"  0  well,  you  know  I  do  not  understand  about  these 
things,"  said  my  good  Aunt  Eachael,  who  is  not  a  good 
judge  at  all  of  any  thing  I  may  do,  because  to  her  eyes 
it  always  wears  the  hue  of  right. 

But  I  was  quite  amused  with  the  criticisms  upon  my 
children  from  those  who  had  no  idea  they  bore  any  re 
lationship  to  me. 

They  are  all  christened.  M.  M.,  so  by  M.  M.  we  will 
call  them. 

"  She  is  too  severe,"  said  one — "  and  then  she  has  no 
right  to  go  about  prying  into  people's  affairs,  learning 
all  their  secrets  and  publishing  them — it  is  shameful.  I 
wonder  if  she  would  like  to  have  somebody  do  the  same 
by  her." 

And  now  I  will  tell  you  just  how  it  was  about  one 
true  story  I  told.  Those  whom  it  really  concerned, 
never  troubled  themselves  about  it.  But  two  others  of 
whom  I  never  heard,  or  thought,  or  dreamed,  saw  fit 
to  appropriate  it  to  themselves,  and  as  they  were  in  a 
grand  hotel,  and  in  a  very  public  place,  with  many  .eyes 
upon  them,  it  was  whispered  all  about  that  the  coat 
must  have  been  made  for  them,  and  so  they  and  all 
their  friends  came  near  getting  up  a  crusade  to  rescue 
the  pen  from  hands  which  so  profaned  it !  Truth  is 
not  only  stranger  than  fiction,  but  more  sure  to  cut. 

This   is   its   mission — to  "  pierce  like  a   two-edged 


MY   CHILDREN.  15 

sword,"  but  I  cannot  be  to  blame  if  it  hew  in  pieces 
those  at  whom  I  never  aimed  even  the  point. 

Another  said  "  she  did  not  like  the  style,  it  was  full 
of  Yankeeisms — she  must  be  a  genuine  Yankee ;  her 
children  all  had  the  twang !" 

Now  I  thought  it  was  long  ago  settled  that  "  Yan 
kees  were  as  good  as  any  body  if  they  only  behaved 
as  well,"  and  that  their  isms  were  neither  more 
oblique,  nor  acute,  oblong  nor  obtuse  than  other  peo 
ple's  isms,  but  it  seems  it  is  still  a  matter  "  open  to  dis 
cussion."  But  this  accusation  did  not  trouble  me,  as  it 
would  if  they  had  said,  "  she  is  attempting  to  conceal- 
her  nativity  by  putting  on  New  York  airs."  So  I  con 
soled  myself  with  the  thought  "  that  I  had  not  come  to 
this." 

But  some  people  said  they  were  nice  children  and  did 
credit  to  their  bringing  up,  and  I  concluded  it  was  best 
to  go  on  my  own  way,  improving  if  I  could  by  any  kind 
hints  I  might  receive,  but  copying  nobody's  else  pat 
terns  ;  and  original  designs,  even  for  children,  might 
atone  for  the  want  of  beauty  and  perfection. 

And  Aunt  Kachael  said,  "  Yes,  yes  1" 


prto  toftfe  tto0 


A  REVERIE  IN  ONE  OF  THE  SALOONS  OF  SARATOGA. 


£»1VrO,  oh,  no" — the  voice  was  soft,  and  the  tones  full 
i.  i  of  love  ;  but  the  answer  was  harsh,  and  I  heard 
a  quick  and  heavy  step  upon  the  floor  as  of  one  who  waa 
resolved  to  bid  defiance  to  all  gentle  persuasion.  Then 
again  the  voice  grew  more  earnest.  "  0,  no,  you  rnusn't 
go  to-night — 0,  stay  with  me  to-night."  But  the  an 
swer  was  still  more  resolved,  and  I  heard  an  oath,  as  he 
said,  "  he  would  not  be  chained  by  a  woman,"  and 

again  the  heavy  footsteps  stride  toward  the  door. 

(16) 


THE  PICTURE  WITH  TWO  FACES.  17 

The  room  was  next  to  mine,  and  I  knew  was  occupied 
by  a  husband  and  wife.  I  had  often  seen  them  going  in 
and  out,  and  noticed  the  expression  of  concealed  anxiety 
and  suffering  which  a  practiced  eye  may  still  detect  on 
a  heroic  woman's  countenance.  On  his  face  I  had  read 
selfishness,  sensuality,  and  ungoverned  passions,  and  I 
knew  there  must  be  misery  in  that  little  room,  though 
wealth  and  luxury,  and  refinement  spread  a  veil  over  it 
to  common  eyes. 

My  ear 'was  quickened  by  this  knowledge,  and  I  lis 
tened  for  the  sequel  of  what  I  knew  to  be  the  attempt 
of  an  injured,  but  still  true  and  loving  wife,  to  dissuade 
her  husband  from  some  midnight  revel ;  and  again  she 
pleaded,  "  My  dear,  0  do  not  go — 'tis  late,  and  all  will 
know  that  you  go  forth  at  this  hour  to  some  unhallowed 
resort.  You  must  not  go."  It  was  still  for  a  moment, 
and  then  I  heard  a  bound,  as  if  neither  bars  nor  bolts 
should  keep  him  from  going  when  and  where  he  pleased. 
But  the  light  step  of  love  was  quicker,  and  I  heard  the 
key  turned  as  she  said,  "  You  must  not,  must  not" — 
and  0  !  the  agony  of  those  gentle  tones. 

There  was  a  struggle — a  faint  scream,  and  she  fell. 
In  a  moment  more  the  key  again  turned,  the  door  was 
thrown  open,  and  muffled  steps  stole  down  the  staircase, 
to  which  I  listened  in  breathless  silence,  till  their  echo 
died  away  in  the  street. 

Then  the  stifled  sobs  fell  on  my  ear — a  moan  that  told 


18  THE    MYRTLE  WREATH. 

me  a  heart  was  breaking.  "  Shall  I  go  to  her  ?"  "  No," 
said  a  voice  within,  "  He  is  her  husband— it  is  one  of 
those  secret  griefs  which  proud  woman  never  reveals, 
and  is  happier  in  feeling  that  no  one  ever  knows." 

I  could  not  sleep,  and  opened  the  casement  to  look 
out  upon  the  garden,  and  far  away  over  the  quiet  village, 
the  groves  and  winding  paths  bathed  in  the  moonlight, 
and  thought,  0,  that  man  should  mar  such  loveliness  ! 
There  were  no  sounds  or  signs  of  life.  Where  were 
the  revellers  ?  Where,  in  a  little  village,  could  be  con 
cealed  the  dark  places  of  iniquity,  the  poisoned  cup 
and  the  maddening  game  ?  And  I  thought  how  many 
hearts  are  breaking !  How  many  pillows  are  wet  with 
the  tears  of  anguish,  and  bosoms  heaving  with  the  sigh 
of  grief,  of  thoughts  uttered,  but  in  the  prayer,  "  My 
father  forgive  them,  and  give  me  strength  to  endure  !" 

A  slight  sound  caught  my  ear,  I  saw  the  curtain  put 
back  by  a  delicate  hand,  and  a  pale  face  upon  which  the 
moonbeams  fell,  looked  forth,  and  a  voice  exclaimed 
"  How  long,  0,  how  long !"  I  watched  till  nearly 
morning,  and  still  she  moved  not;  and  I  again  sought 
rest,  ere  hum  of  voices  and  the  tramp  of  feet  should  ban 
ish  sleep  from  every  eyelid. 

When  I  awoke  there  were  again  voices ;  these  soft 
tones  were  softer,  and  the  harsh  answers  were  harsher 
still ;  but  they  soon  ceased,  and  the  restless  slumbers  of 
the  debauchee  alone  disturbed  the  stillness.  The  pale 


THE    PICTURE    WITH    TWO    FACES.  19 

hand  stil  rested  on  the  window-sill,  when  the  morning 
light  streamed  in ;  and  when  the  bell  summoned  all  to 
awake,  I  heard  again  that  loving  voice  whispering  in  the 
ears  of  the  sleeper,  to  arouse  him  from  the  stupidity 
which  wine  and  revelry  had  produced.  Muttered  curses 
were  thrown  back  upon  her  bleeding  heart,  but  the 
affectionate  appeals  continued  till  he  fully  understood 
their  import,  when  he  arose  and  moved  about  in  sullen 
silence  at  his  morning  toilet. 

I  descended  to  the  parlor,  and  from  my  quiet  nook 
observed  that  "  happy  couple"  when  they  entered,  the 
envied  of  all  eyes.  His  are  drawing  room  smiles,  and 
so  well  do  they  become  him,  that  ordinary  observers 
would  never  imagine  that  the  saloon  was  the  only  place 
in  which  he  ever  wore  them.  But  the  beautiful  and 
gentle  creature  by  his  side  clings  trustfully  to  his  arm, 
and  looks  up  lovingly  to  his  face.  It  is  not  strange 
they  believe  her  happy  !  and  indeed  she  is.  She  loves 
with  a  true  woman's  devotion — "  with  all  his  faults  she 
loves  him  still."  But  the  worm,  that  insidious  worm 
Neglect,  is  gnawing  there,  and  the  life-blood  will  soon 
be  drained  from  that  true  heart. 

I  thought  of  those  words,  so  true  and  beautiful,  "  Are 
there  no  martyrs  of  whom  the  world  never  hears  ?" 
"  Pass  you  never,  in  your  daily  walks,  slight  forms  with 
calm  brows  and  mild  eyes,  whose  whole  life  has  been 
one  prolonged  self  struggle  ?"  "  Lip  and  cheek,  and 


20  THE    MYRTLE    WREATH. 

brow,  tell  they  you  no  tales  of  the  spirit's  unrest?"  Ah, 
yes,  there  is  a  whole  army  of  rnartyr-women,  more  he 
roic  than  any  victor  on  the  battle-field,  of  whom  the 
world  never  hears  or  knows,  or  dreams.  But  there  is 
an  eye  that  pities,  and  an  arm  to  save,  and  0  how, 
brightly  will  these  crushed  and  broken  spirits  shine  in 
the  ransomed  hosts  above  1 


in     tot  dmprium. 


mHANKSGIVING-DAY  has  a  pleasant  sound, 
JL  wherever  it  may  fall  on  the  ear ;  but  in  the  city  it 
cannot  be  so  marked  or  so  welcome,  as  in  New  Eng 
land,  for  here  festivities  are  common  occurrences,  and 
feasting  is  an  every- day  affair.  At  the'  "  Astor"  and 
the  "  Irving,"  roast  turkey  and  oyster  sauce,  plum  pud 
ding  and  dyspepsia,  are  dispensed  every  day.  Every 
day  in  the  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  is  like  every 
other.  The  bill  of  fare  never  varies. 

Here1  there  is  no  best  room  open  only  on  "  high  days, 

holydavs,  Christmas  and  Thanksgiving  ;"  here  there  can 

(21) 


22  THE    MYRTLE  WREATH. 

be  no  family  gatherings — no  grey-haired  sire  to  relate 
around  the  fireside  the  sports  of  his  youth — no  aged 
matron  to  renew  with  remembrances  the  frolics  of 
childhood. 

Nowhere  do  associations  seems  to  cluster  so  thickly 
as  in  the  old-fashioned  New  England  farm-house,  where 
all  around — every  mountain,  rock  and  tree — is  hung 
with  legends  of  by-gone  days. 

The  Grandfather  bought  the  "  tract  "  of  the  Indians, 
and  felled  the  trees  with  his  own  strong  arm.  He  built 
the  hut  which  first  sheltered  him,  and  ploughed  and 
planted,  and  reaped  and  gathered  in,  till  riches  crowned 
his  labors,  and  houses  and  barns  and  granaries  gave 
evidence  of  his  prosperity. 

Sons  and  daughters  grew  up  around  him — and  now, 
children  and  children's  children,  gather  at  every  return 
ing  festival  to  hear  his  "  oft-told  tales,"  which  "  ne'er 
gro\;  old."  He  heard  the  guns  of  the  Revolution — how 
long  a  time  it  seems  to  the  little  prattler  on  his  knee 
since  "  Grandpa  was  a  little  boy."  He  twines  his  tiny 
fingers  in  the  long  grey  locks,  and  "  wonders  if  they 
were  ever  brown  and  curly  like  his  own !" 

Thanksgiving-day  is  the  only  one  in  all  the  year  when 
the  whole  house  is  warmed  and  lighted  for  festivity — 
and  the  interest  of  the  occasion  is  greatly  heightened  by 
the  fact,  that  all,  from  the  oldest  to  the  youngest,  have 
had  a  "  finger  in  the  pie  "  of  preparation  ! 


THANKSGIVING  IN  THE  GREAT  METROPOLIS.      23 

On  Monday  morning  the  cocks  were  strutting  about 
the  barn-yard,  and  the  hens  were  crackling  without  a 
presentiment  of  their  doom,  and  in  the  evening  they  are 
all  strung  by  their  "  head's  antipodes  "  in  the  chimney 
corner.  A  bright  fire  crackles  on  the  hearth,  and  the 
plucking  and  "  singeing "  go  on  right  merrily.  The 
little  folks  are  allowed  to  sit  up  to  pick  chickens,  and  the 
next  day  the  mortar  pestle  pounder  and  the  pastry 
roller  resound  through  all  the  borders,  and  the  chop 
ping,  mincing  and  mixing  and  stirring  employ  all  hands. 

On  Wednesday  evening  the  pantry  shelves  display 
rows  of  pies  of  every  name  and  savory  taste,  and  pans 
of  cakes,  and  dough-nuts.  "  Master  Gobble-gobble  " 
has  parted  with  his  spurs  and  taken  to  the  spit ;  Mrs. 
Goose  is  all  equipped  for  the  steamer,  and  the  ducks 
are  in  their  native  element  without  the  power  of  appre 
ciating  it ! 

The  snow-storm  and  the  cider-press  have  not  been 
forgotten,  and  both  used  to  be  absolutely  necessary  to  a 
New  England  Thanksgiving.  Uncles,  aunts  and  cou 
sins  must  be  announced  by  merry  bells,  and  the  day 
could  not  end  quite  satisfactorily  without  a  sleigh-ride 
in  the  evening. 

Cider,  it  was  thought,  promoted  digestion — at  least  it 
promoted  sociability,  and  there  is  no  disputing  that  it 
was  delicious,  and  I  have  never  been  convinced  that  it 
has  not  all  these  qualities  still !  Though  in  the  spirit 


24  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

of  Paul  and  the  Maine  Law,  if  it  make  my  brothers  to 
offend,  I  will  drink  no  cider,  even  at  the  risk  of  undi 
gested  turkey  and  silent  sociables  ! 

But  there  is  nothing  else  that  need  be  dispensed  with 
— and  I  would  that  greater  honors  and  greater  prepar 
ations  awaited  the  hallowed  day,  rather  than  its  glories 
should  fade  as  time  wears  on.  I  only  wish  that  every 
household  would  invest  it  with  some  peculiar  charm,  so 
that  children  might  welcome  it  and  rejoice  at  its  com 
ing,  and  so  that  their  memories  might  cling  to  it,  wher 
ever  they  should  wander,  for  the  heart  is  not  only  made 
glad,  but  better,  by  everything  that  links  it  to  home. 

Parents,  who  provide  for  their  childen  no  home,  none 
of  those  loving  ties  and  sweet  remembrances,  which 
cluster  around  "  the  spot  where  we  were  born,"  or 
where  we  spent  the  days  of  childhood  and  youth,  send 
them  forth  into  the  world  like  a  ship  on  the  ocean,  with 
out  anchor  or  cable.  The  helm  is  not  alone  sufficient 
in  the  hour  of  danger;  there  must  be  something  to  fall 
back  upon — a  strong  chain  to  secure  the  tempest-tossed 
bark  to  the  rock,  or  it  will  certainly  go  down  in  the 
darkness. 

How  surely  the  heart  expands  with  kindly  charities 
on  Thanksgiving  day !  How  many  poor  are  remem 
bered,  how  many  hungry  fed,  how  many  naked  clothed 
— for  it  is  no  more  true  that  "  misery  loves  company  " 
than  that  happiness  likes  to  diffuse  itself.  Who  could 


THANKSGIVING  IN  THE  GREAT  METROPOLIS.       25 

enjoy  the  festal  board  knowing  that  those  next  door  to 
him  were  starving.  Every  heart  that  lifts  itself  in  grat 
itude  must  be  warmed  and  made  generous,"  and  it  is  a 
pleasant  thought  when  the  bells  are  pealing,  that  the 
multitudes  are  giving  up  with  their  thank  offerings,  be 
cause  the  Lord  hath  blessed  and  prospered  them.  "  It 
is  good  to  give  thanks  unto  the  Lord." 

But  though  I  remained  in  the  city  for  my  sermon,  I 
went  out  of  it  for  my  dinner ;  not  with  the  hope  of  ob 
taining  anything  better  than  the  city  afforded  as  a  "  feast 
of  fat  things,"  but  to  enjoy  a  little  more  of  the  genuine 
spirit  of  the  season.  I  could  not  be  at  home,  but 
wanted  to  be  reminded  of  it,  so  assented  most  gladly  to 
the  invitation  to  sit  at  the  board  where  many  generations 
were  to  gather,  from  the  grey-haired  man  of  seventy  to 
the  baby,  the  tiny  baby  in  its  mother's  arms. 

We  called  Baby  the  sunbeam — little  joyous  creature 
that  he  was,  so  delighted  with  the  rattle  of  other  peo 
ple's  knives  and  forks,  and  the  sight  of  all  the  good 
things  of  which  he  could  not  partake — so  delighted  with 
the  happy  faces  all  about  him,  that  his  own  was  like 
the  dimpling  pool  reflecting  the  brightness  of  the 
morning. 

How  pleasant  was  it  to  see  the  old  and  the  young, 
kindred  of  widely  scattered  houses,  in  a  circling  row; 

and  then   we  pictured  to   ourselves  all   the  homes  we 
2 


26  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

knew,  with  their  gatherings.  Ah,  and  the  broken  links 
too,  which  had  filled  some  fond  hearts  with  mourning. 

According  to  the  established  rule,  we  ate  as  much  as 
ire  could,  and  then  made  merry  with  the  children,  as  a 
help  to  digestion.  We  played  *  blind  man's  huff?  and 
1  hunt  the  squirrel,'  '  fox  and  geese,'  and  '  button,  but 
ton,  make  a  rise,'  and  then,  forgive  us  shades  of  our 
Fathers !  we  danced  to  music  of  our  own  making. 
The  old  lady  of  ninety  was  not  less  nimble  than  her 
partner,  the  little  boy  of  six,  and  all  were  equally  ear 
nest  in  the  business  of  fun  and  frolic. 

Many  of  the  little  ones  were  too  little  to  understand 
the  meaning  of  Thanksgiving,  but  they  were  in  no  dan 
ger  of  misapprehending  its  privileges;  and  the  notable 
fact,  deduced  from  observation,  that  father  and  mother 
did  not  frolic  quite  so  gaily  on  any  other  day  in  the 
year,  only  prepared  them  to  welcome  the  next  more 
gladly. 

Blessings  on  their  happy  hearts !  and  my  prayer  is, 
that  I  may  never  be  obliged  to  spend  Thanksgiving 
where  little  children  are  not. 


pgpn. 


££  1\TO  indeed,  we  are  not  going  to  live  on  gossiping 
J_M  terms  with  those  around  us.  Oar  neighbors 
are  not  to  know  all  about  our  affairs,"  exclaimed  an 
aristocratic  genteel  family  from  the  city,  as  they  settled 
in  a  remote  country  village.  "  In  the  city,  people  do  not 
know  even  those  who  live  next  door  to  them," — to  be 
sure ;  therefore  it  is  not  genteel.  But  I  have  heard 
as  arrant  gossip  between  those  who  were  obliged  to 
cross  Union  Park  or  Washington  Parade  Ground,  in 
order  to  meet,  as  I  ever  heard  between  those  who  only 

lifted  the  latch  to  the  little  wicket  gate,  and  traversed 

(27) 


28  TIIZ    MYRTLE    WREATH. 

the  "  garden  patch,"  and  entered  the  back  door  and 
seated  themselves  by  the  fire  sans  ceremonie. 

No,  they  were  not  going  to  be  ill  bred,  and  countri 
fied,  and  have  "  neighbors"  if  they  did  live  in  a  vil 
lage.  They  happened  to  move  into  a  neighborhood, 
where  gossip  had  never  entered — where  the  people 
were  more  than  ordinarily  kind  and  sympathizing,  and 
yet  inclined  to  "mind  their  own  business;"  so  when 
the  good  wives  had  put  on  their  best  dibs  and  tuckers, 
and  called  on  their  new  neighbors  and  pronounced 
them  very  pleasant,  and  found  their  calls  were  not  re 
turned,  they  quietly  let  them  alone. 

Not  many  weeks  had  passed  before  sickness,  the 
disregarder  of  all  aristocratic  distinctions,  entered  the 
domicil  from  which  neighbors  were  excluded.  The 
doctor's  carriage  was  seen  every  day  at  the  door,  but 
it  was  no  concern  of  theirs.  They  might  not  be  w el- 
come  if  they  proffered  assistance  or  enquiry ;  so  they 
stayed  away.  The  family  watched  all  day  by  the 
couch  of  suffering,  and  the  night  brought  them  no  rest, 
for  there  were  none  to  take  their  place,  and  with 
motherly  and  sisterly  sympathy, 'share  their  weariness, 
and  help  to  bear  their  burthens.  Then  came  Death, 
that  stern  leveller,  and  bruised  their  hearts  and  bowe.d 
their  spirits,  but  to  whom  could  they  look  for  the  balm 
which  soothes,  if  it  cannot  heal ;  for  the  hand  which 


NEIGHBORS.  29 

kindly  binds  up  the  wound,  if  it  cannot  assuage  all 
pain. 

Those  who  have  ever  lived  in  a  country  village,  need 
not  be  told  with  what  delicacy  and  alacrity  all  these 
offices  are  performed  by  neighbors,  nor  how  much 
sweeter  it  is  to  depend  on  friendship  than  on  menial 
service,  in  such  an  hour  of  affliction.  Some  mother  or 
daughter  softly  enters  and  assumes  all  care,  and  attends 
to  all  arrangements,  leaving  those  who  are  stricken,  to 
the  indulgence  of  their  sorrows  and  to  profitable  reflec 
tion  ;  and  how  often  have  I  heard  families  in  cities 
mourn,  that  for  them  there  was  no  such  solace — no 
such  friendship.  But  those  who  prefer  gentility  to 
frank  and  cordial  intercourse,  should  not  lament  their 
condition. 

Sickness  and  death  teach  many  a  lesson  which  no 
other  teacher  could  impress  on  the  heart ;  and  when 
our  city  friends  had  been  humbled  under  the  rod,  they 
sought  the  sympathy  which  they  had  rejected,  and  cul 
tivated  the  friendship  which  they  h.ad  despised.  They 
found  they  could  live  in  friendly  communion  with  those 
around  them  without  descending  to  vulgar  gossip,  and 
that  those  who  live  in  palaces,  and  dress  gorgeously, 
are  not  the  most  sure  to  prove  ministering  angels  at 
the  couch  of  suffering,  or  the  most  ready  to  pour  balm 


30  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

into  the  wounded  heart.  Henceforth  they  had  neigh 
bors  in  sickness  and  in  health,  and  proved  good 
country  neighbors  themselves. 


Cttrati  in 


Q  HE  is  rightly  named  the  «  Queen  City  of  the  West  1" 
O  How  majestically  she  sits  on  her  chariot  of  hills, 
with  her  feet  upon  the  water,  and  her  head  rising  even 
to  the  clouds.  How  glorious  must  be  her  beauty  when 
she  puts  on  her  emerald  robes,  and  wreathes  her  brow 
with  summer  garlands.  Ah,  yes,  and  she  seems  con 
scious  of  her  beauty.  How  she  adorns  herself  with  the 
gems  of  art.  Palaces  are  growing  up  all  around  her, 
and  gardens  are  smiling  in  all  her  borders. 

They  are  proud  of  their  city,  and  proud  of  their  coun 
try,  those  who  have  seen  the  wilderness  and  the  solitary 

(31) 


\ 


32  THE    MYRTLE    WREATH. 

place  made  glad  by  their  fostering  care,  and  the  desert 
rejoice  and  blossom  as  the  rose;  and  who  is  not  ready 
to  call  it  a  just  and  honorable  pride?  I  am  beginning  to 
feel  the  enthusiasm  which  seems  to  inspire  all  who  come 
to  "  spy  out  this  land  of  promise,"  and  when  I  return, 
shall  bring  you  such  specimens  of  "  purple  clusters," 
of  the  "  fig,  the  olive,  and  the  pomegranate,"  as  shall 
induce  you  to  come  out  and  take  possession. 

I  have  been  out  into  the  forest  and  seen  the  giants 
of  the  wood.  I  have  wandered  over  the  hills  and  felt 
the  "  sadness  which  is  sweet,"  in  the  silent  grove. 

It  is  much  nearer  spring  here  than  it  is  with  you,  and 
the  grass  is  never  so  completely  winter-killed  as  in  our 
native  vales.  Some  days  are  already  so  sunny  and 
bright  as  to  tempt  you  to  go  forth  and  to  linger,  with 
only  the  blue  Heavens  for  a  canopy,  and  some  tufted 
knoll  for  a  resting-place.  The  shrill  wind  of  Autumn 
is  not  the  signal  for  the  departure  of  all  the  birds,  as  it 
is  in  New-England,  and  the  morning  gladdens  you  with 
their  cheerful  song.  This  is  the  atmosphere  in  which 
the  genius  of  Powers  was  first  developed,  and  the  Cin- 
cinnatians  claim  him  for  their  own.  He  was  born  in 
Vermont,  but  he  removed  here  so  early,  that  he  must  be 
considered  a  plant  of  the  soil.  I  have  seen  the  first  work 
of  his  hands,  a  plaster  bust  of  a  little  girl,  who  is  now 
a  matron,  but  retaining  a  striking  likeness  to  the  sunny 
face  of  her  childhood.  I  have  seen  the  room  in  which 


CINCINNATI   IN    MARCH.  33 

he  learned  to  read  and  spell.  He  had  a  humble  origin, 
like  most  great  men,  and  struggled  with  poverty,  and 
climbed  many  a  rude  pathway  ere  he  reached  the  pin 
nacle  of  renown.  After  having  looked  upon  the  per 
fection  of  his  art  in  the  slave  girl  of  the  East,  I  trace 
with  peculiar  interest  the  graceful  curls  and  joyous  ex 
presbion  of  the  free  child  of  the  West,  whom  he  moulded 
without  a  dream,  perhaps,  of  the  halo  which  was  begin 
ning  even  then  to  encircle  his  brow. 
2* 


1 0  an  Infant  ilapu  tofty 


How  gracefully  the  shadows 

Go  dancing  on  before, 
As  thy  tiny  fingers  frolic 

With  the  sunbeam  on  the  floor. 

How  bright  thy  eye  is  glowing, 
For  it  seems  to  thee  a  toy  ; 

And  thy  little  heart  is  throbbing 
With  the  extacy  of  joy. 

i 
But  'tis  not  half  so  winning 

As  thy  smile  of  dalliance  meek, 
And  the  wily  laughing  dimple 

That  is  nestling  in  thy  cheek. 

(34) 


TO   AN   INFANT.  35 

Its  form  is  but  a  phantom — 

The  bright  and  beauteous  thing, 
And  changing,  ever  changing, 

Like  a  fairy  on  the  wing. 

Like  many  a  fickle  beauty. 

It  comes  but  to  allure ; 
To  dazzle  and  deceive  thee, 

Although  its  glance  be  pure. 

Its  brilliancy  is  fading, 

Even  now  it  disappears ; 
And  grief  is  in  thy  bosom, 

Thine  eye  is  dim  with  tears. 

Thus  life  with  beaming  promise 

Bids  hope  illume  the  heart ; 
But  hopes  like  fickle  sunbeams 

Decoy  and  then  depart 


|t  Mart  shunt  fftrait. 


» »  T  AM  never  merry  when  I  hear  sweet  music," 
JL  though  I  cannot  say  with  Shakspeare  that  I  am 
never  sad  at  any  other  time !  And  I  have  been  a  thou 
sand  times  thankful  that  my  heart  and  soul,  instead  of 
my  feet,  were  inevitably  linked  to  sweet  sounds. 

I  often  hear  good  sober  people  lamenting  that  secu 
lar  music  should  desecrate  a  church ;  but  to  me  there  is 
never  any  secular  music.  I  never  danced  to  Jim  Crow 
or  Money  Musk,  and  when  these  sweet  melodies  fall 
on  my  ear,  my  feet  are  not  tempted  to  move  from  their 
places,  and  my  soul  only  inclines  to  "  arise  and  spread 

its  wings." 

(36) 


A    WORD    ABOUT    MUSIC.  37 

Tunes  may  be  associated  with  secular  words,  and 
with  very  improper  times  and  seasons,  but  this  cannot 
really  affect  the  music.  If,  as  John  Wesley  once  said, 
"  the  Devil  has  all  the  good  music,"  it  cannot  be  in  this 
case  the  fault  of  the  Devil,  but  of  those  who  have  thus 
appropriated  it.  The  thousand  changes  which  are  rung 
on  C,  D,  E,  F,  Gr,  A,  B,  make  all  the  music  we  have, 
and  it  would  be  a  curious  mathematical  question,  which 
combination  should  be  considered  sacred  and  which 
secular. 

If  a  tune  sung  or  played  fast  has  no  right  or  title  to 
be  called,  church  music,  some  of  the  most  grand  and 
solemn  pieces  ever  composed  must  be  forthwith  ban 
ished  from  their  appropriate  sphere.  It  would  be  bet 
ter  for  the  good  people,  all,  "  old  folks,  young  folks,"  to 
see  well  to  their  associations.  The  time  may  be  quick 
or  slow,  and  the  arrangement  simple  or  complex,  the 
effect  is  always  to  bring  "  sadness  stealing  o'er  my  spi 
rit,"  and  often  do  I  retire  from  the  assembly,  where  all 
others  seem  to  have  been  made  light-hearted,  to  weep,  I 
know  Qot  why,  and  yet  there  is  a  luxury  in  the  tears  I 
shed. 


aito 


f  f  "VTEVEE— I  will  never  believe  that  he  could  do 
-Li  wrong.  Engaged  to  Milly  Day !  He  says  he 
never  thought  of  such  a  thing.  He  liked  to  talk  with 
her — she  amused  him ;  but  for  a  wife — no,  he  never 
thought  of  marrying  her."  Thus  soliloquized  a  fair 
young  creature  who  had  been  wooed  and  won  with  all 
the  flatteries  which  false  lips  know  so  well  how  to  speak. 
Not  that  she  was  unworthy  a  true  and  noble  heart. 
Oh,  no — she  was  indeed  the  fairest  among  the  daugh 
ters  of  the  land — the  belle  of  the  village  circle. 

(38) 


LOVE   AND   MONEY.  39 

The  auburn  hair  did  not  "  fall  in  ringlets  upon  her 
snowy  neck,'1  according  to  the  fashion  of  all  heroines, 
but  was  braided  in  rich  tresses,  and  fastened  with  a 
simple  comb ;  her  eyes  were  dark  and  expressive,  and 
though  she  had  never  known  sorrow,  the  shadow  of 
thought  rested  upon  her  brow.  She  had  a  heart,  a  true 
woman's  heart,  worth  all  the  treasures  of  the  East;  but 
he  who  sought  it  had  never  learned  its  value,  and  cared 
not  for  all  the  wealth  of  love  it  was  lavishing  on  him. 

Her  father  was  rich  !  Oh,  if  he  could  have  known 
the  years  of  untold  misery  which  his  houses  and  lands 
and  stores  of  gold  heaped  upon  his  darling  Lilly,  he 
would  have  cast  them  from  him,  as  more  hateful  than 
leprosy  in  his  eyes. 

Albert  G-.,  was  a  lawyer — a  young  man  of  '  excellent 
habits'  and  '  fine  talents' — 'attentive  to  hie  business' and 
<  honorable  in  his  dealings,'  and  what  the  world  calls 
prosperous.  Just  such  a  man  as  fathers  choose  for 
their  daughters  !  It  never  occurred  to  the  man  who* 
wasrnow  old  and  loaded  with  riches  and  honors,  and 
to  inquire  if  he  possessed  a  heart — if  he  had  the  qualifi 
cations  which  make  a  woman  happy.  He  had  heard,  to 
be  sure,  that  he  was  a  little  given  to  gallantry.  He 
had  "  waited  upon  Milly  Day;  but  now,  like  a  sensible 
man,  he  had  chosen  Lilly,  his  sensible  and  quiet  Lilly, 
and  no  doubt  would  *  settle  down'  and  live  the  life  of  a 
sober  <  man  of  family.'" 


40  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

They  were  married — and  gay  were  the  festivities  in 
those  lighted  halls  when  Lilly  Morris  became  a  bride. 
She  had  been  a  favorite  with  the  old,  because  she  was 
ever  respectful  and  attentive,  and  they  rejoiced  that "  she 
•was  going  to  do  so  well."  Young  men  envied  him  who 
had  won  the  prize,  and  young  ladies  hoped  that  when 
they  "  set  their  caps"  they  should  be  as  fortunate. 

Tli ere  she  is,  in  her  new  home,  moving  about  with 
quiet  dignity.  It  is  newly  purchased  and  newly  fur 
nished,  and  she  *"  knows  how  to  keep  house."  What 
is  more  beautiful  than  a  new  home,  and  where  does  a 
young  heart  beat  more  lightly  ?  She  looks  around,  and 
says,  "  It  is  mine ;  how  happy  shall  I  be  in  making  it 
pleasant  to  him  who  is  the  light  of  my  eyes." 

A  year  has  passed  away — the  last  of  earthly  happi 
ness  to  her,  though  she  knows  it  not.  It  is  the  same 
full,  rounded  form  and  elegant  figure  that  moves  in  that 
fair  mansion.  The  roses  are  not  faded  from  her  cheek, 
but  the  smile  has  lost  its  brightness.  She  listens  for  the 
footsteps  which  once  gladdened  her  ears  and  made  her 
heart  beat  gaily,  and  starts  like  the  timid  fawn;  and  yet 
she  can  scarcely  tell  why.  He  who  ouce  seemed  so  per 
fect  is  changed,  but  so  gradually  as  to  be  almost  imper 
ceptible  even  to  a  loving  heart. 

Lilly  is  alone  ;  but  her  husband  is  not  at  the  billiard- 
room  or  gaming  table ;  no  scene  of  revelry  has  enticed 
him.  No,  he  is  by  her  side ;  but  no  word  of  interest 


LOVE    AND    MONEY.  „        41 

or  endearment  falls  upon  her  ear.  Her  fingers  are  busy 
with  that  delicate  embroidery,  which  is  soon  to  deck  a 
tiny  form,  and  how  she  longs  to  hold  it  up  and  ask  him 
to  admire.  He  would  not  speak  unkindly,  but  he  would 
not  answer,  and  she  has  no  courage  to  meet  that  cold 
silent  look  of  indifference. 

"  Days  and  weeks  pass  on — oh,  how  heavily  they 
move;  when  will  they  wear  away."  These  words  she 
often  sighed.  Could  she  have  looked  into  the  far  future 
and  seen  fifty  years  roll  on  with  the  same  heavy  burden, 
would  not  the  thought  have  crushed  her  ?  How  little 
we  know  what  the  spirit  can  endure,  as  one  sorrow 
after  another  is  laid  up  on  it.  It  bends,  but  it  is  long, 
very  long  in  breaking.  It  is  a  slow  way  of  dying  ! 

Lilly  is  a  mother,  and  those  hours  of  suffering  and 
danger  have  been  passed  alone.  The  father  has  not 
entered  her  room  ;  a  son  is  born,  but  he  has  not  looked 
upon  his  face.  Is  it  possible  she  lives,  that  fair,  young 
creature,  the  victim  of  neglect  ? 

There  has  been  no  failure  in  business,  and  no  misfor 
tune  has  come  to  them,  yet  they  live  like  those  whom 
poverty  is  oppressing.  The  house  is  dark,  and  cold,  and 
comfortless.  Is  he  a  man  or  is  he  a  fiend  who  comes 
in  and  goes  out,  as  if  he  were  deaf  and  dumb — as  if  he 
had  not  one  human  feeling  or  human  sympathy. 

He  is  not  a  miser,  and  yet  his  stores  are  locked  with 
more  than  a  miser's  care  and  the  food  furnished  for  his 


42  THE    MYRTLE  WREATH. 

family  is  coarser  than  the  felon's  meal.  Not  a  word  is 
he  heard  to  utter  from  morn  to  night— from  week  to 
week,  unless  it  be  the  bitter  words  of  hatred. 

But  even  this  is  not  enough.  Lilly  has  been  suffi 
ciently  wretched,  but  she  has  never  murmured,  and  her 
quiet  Christian  deportment  only  seems  to  madden  him. 
There  can  be  no  reason  why  he  should  remove  her  to 
a  humble  roof  and  humiliate  her  in  the  eyes  of  the  world, 
and  yet  he  has  resolved  to  do  it. 

Enter  that  dark  low  cottage;  it  is  comfortless,  the 
walls  are  bare  and  the  furniture  ruder  than  that  of  the 
meanest  peasant.  She  who  dwells  within  is  changed 
since  we  last  saw  her — how  meagre,  pale,  and  spiritless  ! 
Children  are  playing  about ;  can  they  be  hers  ?  They 
look  like  the  children  of  poverty.  Sorrow  has  paralyzed 
the  mother.  She  seems  not  to  care  whether  they  be  tidy, 
she  is  not  provided  with  the  means  of  making  them 
comfortable. 

She  is  deserted ;  the  husband  of  her  love,  he  who 
promised  to  cherish  her  through  evil  and  through  good 
report,  never  crosses  the  threshold.  All  the  weary  days 
and  nights  she  is  alone,  and  is  the  object  of  the  world's 
pity.  Ah,  this  is  the  bitterest  cup  of  all.  Would  that 
she  could  have  borne  her  sorrows  unpitied  and  un 
known.  But  no  word  that  could  relieve  her  burdened 
heart  escapes  her  lips.  Her  dignity  repels  the  gossiping, 
and  the  most  inquisitive  would  not  dare  to  pry  into  the 


LOVE   AND    MONEY  43 

secrets  of  Mrs.  Morris'  heart  or  household.  No  friend 
shares  her  confidence,  and  strange  as  it  may  sound,  she 
lias  no  enemies.  They  talk  and  pity,  but  they  do  not 
condemn. 

Where  is  the  husband  and  father  ?  Attending  scru 
pulously  to  business,  and  prospering  as  the  world 
counts  prosperity.  Can  that  be  the  once  gay  and  gal 
lant  Albert  G ,  with  slouched  hat  and  disordered 

dress,  chewing,  and  smoking  and  swrearing,  and  spit 
ting,  and  drinking  !  Yes,  but  the  life  is  not  congenial 
to  his  taste ;  he  seeks  excitement  to  drown  misery,  and 
at  length  wearies  of  it. 

Years  have  passed,  and  the  husband  and  wife  have 
not  met.  She  has  performed  her  daily  routine  of  busi 
ness,  and,  can  we  believe  it,  her  heart  has  yearned  for 
him  who  has  spurned  her. 

And  what  has  influenced  him  again  to  seek  her,  and 
grant  her  a  husband's  presence  and  protection  ?  He  is 
not  changed,  he  does  not  come  to  her  with  words  of 
penitence,  nor  does  his  countenance  kindle  with  a  single 
beam  of  returning  affection.  Just  as  coldly  and  silently 
he  moves  about,  without  consulting  her  wishes,  or 
deigning  to  give  a  word  of  explanation.  She  sees  the 
preparations  for  a  removal,  but  knows  not  why,  and 
dares  not  ask  w7hither  she  is  to  go. 

Silently  and  passively  she  performs  what  is  required, 
and  finds  at  length,  that  a  brighter  day  is  dawning. 


44  THE    MYRTLE  WREATH. 

Lilly  is  again  installed  in  her  bridal  home,  and  the 
world  says,  "  Now  she  will  be  happy."  The  roses  have 
indeed  returned  to  her  cheek,  and  the  light  to  her  eyes. 
She  is  grateful  to  be  shadowed  from  the  rude  gaze,  and 
strives  to  seem  blithe  of  heart.  But  there  is  no  bright 
ness  within  her  home.  A  life  without  love  ;  oh,  is  it  not 
sufficiently  desolate  ?  But  a  wedded  life,  without  the 
sunshine  of  affection,  a  home  upon  which  no  sunshine 
ever  falls,  a  fireside  circle  around  which  the  demons  of 
distrust  and  hatred  linger,  oh,  what  is  there  in  all  the 
world  branded  with  the  name  of  misery,  to  be  compared 
to  this  ?  To  awake  from  a  dream  of  bliss  like  that  on 
which  the  young  and  trusting  heart  has  dwelt — the  ob 
ject  of  devotion — and  find  the  bosom  on  which  she  had 
hoped  to  repose,  and  sweetly  rest  from  all  the  cares  of 
life,  repulse  her,  and  to  meet  glances  that  send  the  life 
blood  from  her  heart,  and  him  to  whom  she  had  looked 
for  elevation  and  sympathy  in  every  noble  sentiment,  a 
grovelling  mercenary. 

At  length  there  is  a  light,  even  in  that  dark  place. 
A  daughter.  The  birth  of  a  son  in  the  Queen's  house 
hold  could  scarcely  cause  more  rejoicing.  Arid  now, 
indeed,  there  is  a  little  brightness.  The  father's  heart 
is  softened.  The  little  creature  has  inherited  her  mo 
ther's  beaut}T,  with  more  delicate  grace  and  loveliness. 
But  she  is  more  sh linking  and  sensitive,  and  seems  to 


LOVE   AND   MONEY.  45 

understand  before  she  speaks,  that  the  blight  and  mil 
dew  are  upon  their  home. 

How  fondly  the  mother  hoped  that  this  little  sun 
beam  would  dispel  the  darkness;  that  warmth  and 
gladness  would  now  fall  upon  her  heart,  and  that  during 
the  remainder  of  her  weary  pilgrimage  she  should  be 
relieved  from  her  heavy  burden. 

But  though  the  father  seemed  to  rejoice  at  the  advent 
of  this  new  bond  of  affection,  and  was  for  a  little  time 
changed,  he  soon  relapsed  into  the  sullen  gloom  which 
had  become  as  second  nature  to  him,  and  never  more 
did  hope,  or  light,  or  gladness,  dawn  for  the  wretched 
wife. 

Why  has  so  much  misery  centered  in  that  household  ? 
If  love  did  not  exist  in  the  beginning,  why  could  it  not 
grow  ?  I  must  confess  to  the  hum-drum  sentiment,  that 
there  is  a  mental,  moral  and  physical  adaptation  neces 
sary  in  the  beings  who  are  to  spend  life  together  so  in 
timately;  and  all  the  reasoning,  and  all  the  religion  in 
the  world,  cannot  overcome  an  antipathy  which  may 
exist  between  two  who  possess  many  excellent  qualities, 
and  who  might  each  have  made  some  other  happy. 
Lilly  Morris  was  elegant  in  manners,  beautiful,  and  in 
some  respects  gifted,  but  she  was  not  fitted  to  be  the 
wife  of  such  a  man  as  Albert  G-.  He  did  not  love  her, 
and  he  could  not  love  her.  He  might  have  been  kind, 
but  happiness  was  out  of  the  question. 


46  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

"Oil  I  know  now  that  I  did  wrong."  How  many 
times  I  have  heard  this  burst  from  that  heart  so  steeped 
in  misery.  What  a  retribution  she  has  experienced  for 
such  a  wrong.  Yet,  like  a  true  woman,  she  condemns 
herself  rather  than  accuse  another.  She  knows  that  he 
whom  she  trusted,  was  bound  by  every  law  of  honor  to 
marry  Milly  Day.  Words  had  not  engaged  them,  but 
all  "  those  little  attentions  which  betrayed  the  one  heart 
and  seek  to  win  the  other,"  he  had  lavished  on  one  who 
was  fitted  to  make  him  happy.  Milly  was  neither  beau 
tiful  nor  rich,  but  she  had  a  character  fitted  to  strike  with 
awe  one  who  should  attempt  to  tyrannize  over  her, 
and  he  would  have  respected  her.  But  he  could  not 
understand  or  appreciate  a  quiet  submissive  nature — one 
who  preferred  to  suffer  rather  than  wrangle,  and  so  he 
trampled  her  in  the  dust. 


The  weary  years  roll  on,  and  though  there  is  more 
of  external  comfort,  there  has  been  found  no  earthly 
solace  for  the  heart.  But  it  has  been  filled  with  grace 
from  Heaven,  and  thus  perhaps  life  has  been  prolonged, 
and  the  capacity  of  suffering  increased. 

For  no  cause  which  she  can  devise,  the  husband  en 
ters  the  house  in  a  raging  fury,  and  utters  taunts  which 


LOVE   AND    MONEY.  47 

sting  her  in  every  nerve — offers  her  money,  any  thing, 
if  she  will  leave  him,  or  give  him  cause  to  desert  her, 
and  authorize  the  law  to  sunder  them  forever. 

"  Never,  never  I"  she  exclaims ;  "  you  may  leave  me, 
but  I  will  never  leave  you  !"  And  now  he  beats  her — 
beats  her  in  hope  she  will  be  driven  to  flee— beats  her 
till  his  children  interfere  and  save  him  from  the  crime 
of  murder.  Still  she  cries  "  I  will  never  leave  you." 
He  tortures  her  with  every  epithet  of  opprobrium,  and 
pours  the  bitter  words  of  hatred  into  her  ears,  and  still 
she  clings  to  him.  Is  it  pride  or  is  it  love  ?  I  know  not 
how  to  solve  the  mystery. 

For  fifty  years  she  has  suffered  and  struggled,  and 
borne;  for  fifty  years  she  has  smiled  and  toiled  for  him 
who  has  never  spoken  one  word  of  kindness  ;  fifty  years 
of  unutterable  wretchedness  has  she  endured,  and  yet 
her  heart  has  never  swerved. 

The  hope  of  riches  enticed  him,  and  oh  the  curse  it 
brought !  He  married  one  whom  he  did  not  love,  "for 
filthy  lucre's  sake  ;"  and  an  old  lady  who  has  seen  much 
of  the  world,  often  remarks,  that  though  the  wicked 
often  prosper  more  than  the  righteous,  there  is  one  sin 
which  never  goes  unpunished,  even  in  this  world — per 
jury  to  a  trusting  heart.  The  thought  of  the  wrong 
rankled  in  his  bosom,  and  not  producing  repentance  and 
humility,  converted  his  spirit  to  gall  and  wormwood. 


48  THE    MYRTLE  WREATH. 

And  what  became  of  Milly,  whom  he  loved,  and  with 
whom  he  could  have  lived  a  happy  life?  Who  would 
have  hushed  and  soothed  that  fiendish  nature,  and  pre 
served  him  a  respectable  and  respected  man  ? 

Hers  was  the  history  of  many  a  lone  and  desolate 
heart.  She  never  loved  another,  and  early  sunk  a  vic 
tim  to consumption.  This  is  what  they  called  it 

— the  same  that  withers  and  blights  so  many.  She  lived 
to  know  the  misery  of  him  who  had  so  injured  arid  be 
trayed  her,  and  she  triumphed  in  Lilly's  wretchedness. 

God  forgive  her,  though  she  could  not  forgive  another. 
Magnanimity  was  not  one  of  her  virtues ;  she  had  not  a 
noble  heart.  I  hope  ere  it  was  caUed  to  give  up  earth, 
it  was  purified  and  made  meet  for  Heaven. 

Never  did  I  know  so  strange  an  instance  of  parental 
neglect  as  that  of  Albert  G-.  I  have  seen  unkind  hus 
bands,  who  were  yet  fond  fathers,  but  for  none  of  his 
children  did  he  manifest  a  father's  pride,  or  a  father's 
love.  How  could  he  thus  neglect  that  beautiful  daugh 
ter.  Not  one  in  all  that  gay  assembly  attracts  so  much 
attention,  or  wins  so  many  smiles. 

How  often  it  is  asked,v"  Where  did  she  get  those 
faultless  manners — that  queenly  grace !"  Her  hair  is 
auburn,  and  the  expression  of  her  hazel  eye  is  soft  and 
sweet — there  is  the  blush  of  girlhood,  and  the  dignity 
of  womanhood. 


LOVE    AND    MONEY.  49 

To  all  amund  she  is  the  merry  creature,  with  less  of 
depth  than  surface,  on  whom  grief  would  sit  lightly,  and 
whom  age  would  scarcely  deign  to  mar. 

She  is  not  twenty,  and  there  is  a  furrow  upon  her 
temple  which  time  will  never  efface,  and  a  tiny  curve 
upon  her  ruby  lip  ;  and  there  is,  when  none  are  by  to 
see,  a  shadow  on  her  brow  which  the  years  and  com 
mon  sorrows  of  half  a  century  would  not  have  power 
to  deepen.  Twenty  years  !  The  season  of  hope  and 
gaiety  to  all  to  whom  this  season  can  ever  come,  and  to 
her  only  one  long  year  of  sadness  ! 

She  never  clambered  on  her  father's  knee,  and  never 
felt  a  father's  kiss. — They  say  he  is  proud  of  her;  but 
oh,  if  he  could  once  fold  her  to  his  bosom,  and  say,  "  I 
love  you,"  it  would  seem  to  be  the  full  measure  of 
earthly  happiness. 

Though  it  has  been  all  her  life  paralyzed  with  terror, 
her  heart  is  full  of  gushing  affection  ;  though  chilled  by 
coldness  and  crushed  by  neglect,  it  is  still  warm,  and 
throbs  with  every  noble  impulse. 

There  she  stands,  with  a  countenance  so  lighted  with 
sunny  smiles  that  not  one  in  the  rnerry  throng,  who 
looks  at  her  imagines  her  heart  to  be  less  joyous  than 
her  own.  Were  she  to  yield  to  melancholy,  while  so 
little  is  understood  of  the  cause,  it  would  be  ascribed  to 

unamiability ;  and  so  she  conceals  under  this  careless 
3 


50  THE    MYRTLE  WilEAtfil. 

exterior  the  worm  that  is  gnawing,  gnawing,  and  is  sus 
tained  and  cheered  by  the  smile  of  Heaven. 

To  her  mother  she  is  a  ministering  angel;  to  her 
brothers,  the  loving  sister  and  gentle  counsellor  ;  to  her 
father— that  cold  stern  man— the  respectful  devoted 
daughter,  ever  watchful  of  his  comfort,  and  ever  cheer 
ful,  but  never  rewarded  by  a  smile  or  word  of  appro 
bation. 

Yet  that  father  was  what  the  world  calls  agreeable 
and  fascinating  in  his  youth — very  like  many  whom  I 
see  bowing  and  smiling  around  me — fortune-hunters — 

io  o 

cold,  calculating  and  unprincipled,  who  make,  for  those 
who  love  and  trust  them,  just  such  wretched  homes  as 
he  has  made  for  two  of  earth's  most  lovely  daughters. 

How  I  would  like  to  impress  it  upon  these  unsuspi 
cious  girls,  that  a  true  and  loving  heart  is  worth  more 
than  all  the  gold  of  California's  mines.  And  above  all, 
I  would  like  to  convince  them  that  he  who  has  been 
unfaithful  to  one  will  never  prove  faithful  to  another ; 
that  he  who  thinks  a  betrothal,  whether  by  words  or 
looks,  or  deeds,  a  light  affair — who  looks  with  indiffer 
ence  upon  the  sufferings  of  her  whom  he  has  deserted 
and  humiliated  by  breaking  a  troth  plight,  will  be  false 
to  his  marriage  vows,  and  she  who  trusts  such  lips  will 
Buffer  the  same  wretched  doom  as  the  fair  and  thought 
less  Lilly. 


LOVE    AND    MONEY.  51 

But  it  seems  sadder  still  that  a  daughter  so  pure  and 
lovely,  and  I  had  almost  said  faultless,  should  be  born  to 
such  an  inheritance.  When  the  heart  has  been  wrung 
with  anguish,  and  crushed  by  some  sudden  misfortune, 
it  will  heal  again,  renew  its  elasticity  and  throb  with 
the  pulse  of  new  and  joyous  life.  But  when  the  weight 
is  one  that  is  never  for  an  instant  lightened,  producing 
a  constant  sense  of  heaviness — to  feel  that  youth  is  pass 
ing  thus  and  the  young  blood  oozing  drop  by  drop 
from  the  yearning  heart,  leaving  it  chilled  ere  the  first 
frosts  of  age  have  gathered  upon  the  brow,  or  time 
has  bid  the  footstep  falter  in  its  course, — oh,  this  is  to 
make  life  a  living  death.  But  if  there  is  a  brighter 
crown  awaiting  those  who  "  pass  though  much  tribu 
lation,  here  on  earth,"  surely  hers  will  be  set  with  bril 
liants,  and  dazzle  with  its  glorious  brightness 


g0ntj  jrf  iljc 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  FRENCH  OF  BERANGER. 


RUSH  on,  my  proud  courser,  the  trump  of  the  north, 
Bids  the  steed  of  the  warrior  to  battle  go  forth  ; 
On,  on  to  the  carnage  with  foam  on  thy  breath, 
And  lend  speed  to  the  wings  and  the  arrows  of  death. 
Neither  saddle  nor  bridle  is  burnished  with  gold, 
They  wait  till  the  deeds  of  my  valor  are  told. 
Neigh  proudly,  my  courser,  for  aye,  it  is  meet, 

That  Kings  should  be  crushed  with  the  tramp  «f  thy  feet. 

(52) 


SONG   OF    THE    COSSACK.  53 

They  tell  me  of  peace,  but  I  know  not  its  birth, 
The  ramparts  of  Europe  are  levelled  to  Earth. 
Go,  roam  by  the  Seine,  where  oft  reeking  with  blood, 
Thou  hast  bathed  in  her  waters,  and  quaffed  her  pure 

flood; 

On,  on  till  the  treasures  of  Princes  are  mine, 
Till  the  sacred  repose  of  the  valiant  is  thine. 
Neigh  proudly  my  courser,  for  aye,  it  is  meet, 
That  Kings  should  be  crushed  with  the  tramp  of  thy  feet. 

From  the  North  to  the  South,  from  the  "West  to  the  East, 
The  prince  and  the  noble,  the  peasant,  and  priest, 
Have  bid  us  come  forth,  and  assert  in  the  field, 
That  the  serf  to  the  tyrant,  no  longer  shall  yield. 
I  have  taken  my  lance,  I  have  heeded  their  call, 
And  the  cross,  and  the  sceptre  before  it  must  fall. 
Neigh  proudly,  my  courser,  for  aye,  it  is  meet, 
That  Kings  should  be  crushed  with  the  tramp  of  thy  feet. 

I  have  seen  in  a  vision  the  phantom  of  him, 

By  whose  glance  the  quick  flash  of  the  lightning  were  dim. 

A  giant  with  voice  like  the  thunder  he  seemed, 

And  high  cfn  his  shoulder  the  battle  axe  gleamed. 

'Twas  the  valorous  Attila,  chief  of  the  north, 

And  like  him  with  his  hordes  will  the  Cossack  go  forth. 

Neigh  proudly,  my  courser,  for  aye  it  is  meet, 

That  Kings  should  be  crushed  with  the  tramp  of  thy  feet. 


54  THE   MYRTLE  WREATH. 

Proud  Europe  may  boast,  but  her  pride  will  be  crushed? 

Her  princes  and  nobles  lie  low  in  the  dust ; 

The  throne  it  must  totter,  the  palace  must  reel, 

'Alid  the  crashing  of  walls  and  the  clashing  of  steel ; 

This,  this  be  the  tocsin  that  quickens  his  speed, 

The  spur  of  the  war  horse  the  Cossack's  brave  steed. 

Neigh  proudly,  my  courser,  for  aye,  it  is  meet, 

That  Kings  should  be  crushed  with  the  tramp  of  thy  feet. 


HOW  strangely  and  harshly  will  the  word  unwel 
come  fall  on  the  ear  of  that  pale  gentle  being, 
whose  mournful  countenance  tells  us  that  she  has  con 
signed  her  only  little  one  to  the  grave.  "What  words 
could  tell  her  agony  when^he  saw  that  lovely  form  lie 
cold  and  still  in  death ;  when  she  knew  that  those  soft 
sweet  tones  would  never  more  fall  on  her  ear;  that  she 
could  never  more  look  on  her  infant's  smile.  How  could 
a  being  so  bright  and  pure,  and  beautiful,  be  otherwise 

than  welcome  ? 

(55) 


56  THE    MYRTLE    WREATH. 

And  it  will  seem  as  mysterious  to  her  whose  home 
has  never  been  gladdened  by  the  sunshine  of  infancy, 
nor  rung  with  the  joyous  laugh  of  childhood.  And  yet 
this  little  baby  received  no  welcome  when  its  tiny  form 
met  a  mother's  gaze,  and  those  deep  blue  eyes  opened  to 
the  light  in  a  world  where  "  all  were  strange  and  none 
were  kind." 

Was  he  not  fair  and  comely  to  look  upon  ?  Oh,  yes, 
no  baby  of  an  hour  could  be  more  so ;  he  had  a  little 
golden  head,  and  the  genuine  rosy  tint,  and  he  cried  and 
stretched  and  sniffled  like  the  majority  of  babies,  and  as 
he  lay  on  a  pillow  in  the  great  chair,  buried  in  the  folds 
of  a  little  blanket;  scolloped  all  round  with  white  silk, 
with  four  dots  in  each  scollope,  a  quilt,  a  comforter  and 
various  etceteras,  lest  he  should  take  cold,  with  the 
thermometer  at  ninety  in  the  shade,  he  was  pronounced 
a  remarkable  specimen  of  babyhood,  which  would  one 
day  do  honor  to  the  state. 

But  still  the  mother  smiled  not.  He  was  placed  in 
her  arms  and  held  to  her  bosom,  but  she  bestowed  on 
him  no  look  of  love.  Poor  little  baby— he  had  no 
choice  but  to  live,  though  it  seemed  sometimes  as  if  he 
was  conscious  that  the  being  on  whom  he  was  depend 
ant  for  life  and  nourishment,  did  not  tend  him  fondly. 

And  why  did  she  not?  Oh,  she  was  weary.  She 
had  bestowed  the  same  attentions  on  twelve  just  like 
him — he  was  an  odd  member.  Her  oldest  was  a  man 


THE    UNWELCOME    BABY.  57 

and  her  daughters  were  young  ladies,  and  baby  was  an 
old  story,  3nd  she  was  old  too,  altogether  too  old  to  be 
tending  babies  !  But  there  was  a  little  boy  scarce  two 
years  old  and  a  little  girl  scarce  four  who  "  wrere  ready 
to  eat  him  up,  he  was  so  little  and  so  cunning."  They 
climbed  up  into  a  chair  by  mother's  bed  a  dozen  times 
a  day,  to  see  if  he  was  still  there — that  little  baby — and 
if  he  had  "growed"  any,  and  to  ask  if  he  would  ever  be 
as  big  as  they. 

All  unconscious  of  the  looks  of  love  or  of  indifference, 
the  little  boy  "  growed"  amazingly,  and  began  to  look 
about,  and  wink,  and  open  and  shut  his  little  hands,  and 
to  smile,  and  what  was  more  amazing,  he  grew  into  the 
hearts  bf  all  the  household.  Except  perhaps  tiiat  tall 
young  man  ;  who  still  passed  by  without  putting  off  his 
dignity  so  much  as  to  smile  on  so  insignificant  a  crea 
ture. 

"When  he  had  so  progressed  in  knowledge,  and  skill 
in  using  it,  as  to  notice  red  ribbons,  and  to  pull  the  curls 
of  his  sisters,  he  had  become  transformed  into  a  pro 
digy — there  never  was  such  a  baby  before.  He  had 
the  wonderful  and  mysterious  habit  of  putting  his  finger 
in  his  mouth  !  and  a  dozen  times  a  day,  a  dozen  of  chil 
dren  might  be  seen  running  at  the  call  of  another  to  see 
baby — he  had  his  finger  in  his  mouth  !  Every  morning 
he  wras  put  in  a  tub  and  there  he  splashed  and  spattered 
like  a  little  dolphin,  and  every  morning  the  sight. was 


53  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

-just  as  new,  and  attracted  the  same  number  of  specta 
tors.  At  length  he  wan  discovered  at  the  maximum  of 
baby-legerdermaia — he  was  sucking  his  toe.  What  an 
uproar,  father  and  mother  and  all  are  actually  gathered 
around  to  see,  what  they  probably  have  not  seen  more 
than  a  million  of  times,  and  then  baby  beginning  to  feel 
his  importance,  laughs  aloud  for  the  first  time.  One 
would  really  have  thought  there  was  never  such  a  sound 
heard  by  them  before. v 

He  is  asleep,  and  lies  there  in  his  little  crib,  all  tucked 
in  with  his  little  white  quilt,  with  only  just  his  nose  half 
out,  and  every  one  of  the  family  may  be  seen  wending 
his  way  to  a  certain  corner  of  the  nursery  just  to  look  at 
him,  he  is  so  sweet  and  looks  so  cunning.  And  when  his 
bright  blue  eyes  open  again  to  the  light,  there  is  such  a 
conflict  about  who  shall  take  him,  that  the  mother  is 
obliged  to  interfere,  lest  he  should  be  divided,  and  no 
time  has  she  the  privilege  of  keeping  him  herself,  he  is 
so  monopolized.  When  he  is  a  little  older  and  can  hold 
a  rattle  and  move  blocks,  what  a  pleasure  for  half  a 
dozen  to  stand  ready  to  pick  them  up  as  he  roguishly 
strews  them  on  the  floor.  By  and  by  he  is  tied  in  a 
chair  and  sits  at  the  table,  and  watching  his  opportunity, 
the  first  thing  we  know  his  hand  is  buried  in  a  plate  of 
pudding.  What  a  marvellous  feat !  Indeed  whether 
he  is  sleeping  or  waking — playful  or  quiet,  in  his  crib  or 
in  mischief,  he  is  at  all  times  equally  wonderful.  The 


THE    UNWELCOME    BABY.  59 

mother  blushes  to  think  that  such  a  little  angel  of  love 
and  beauty  should  ever  have  been  unwelcome  !  What 
a,  peace-maker  he  is;  what  a  composer  of  all  discor 
dances.  What  should  they  do  without  the  baby  ? 
What  a  pure  love  pervades  all  the  atmosphere  where  he 
is  smiling.  How  desolate  would  have  been  their  abode 
without  the  thirteenth  boy — the  joy,  the  sunshine,  the 
blessing  of  the  household ! 

Oh,  how  we  love  the  baby, 

The  little  fair  haired  boy, 
Whose  smile  so  bright  and  beaming 

Is  the  sunshine  to  our  joy. 

How  graceful  every  motion 

Of  his  little  hands  at  play, 
With  the  flowers  upon  the  carpet, 

Or  the  toys  we  throw  away. 

How  we  love  to  build  the  castles, 

He  delights  to  overthrow, 
The  towers  and  mimic  Babels, 

He  levels  at  a  blow. 

Were  he  the  "  heir  apparent" 

"Expectant  of  a  crown," 
No  more  devoted  homage, 

Could  unto  him  be  shown. 


60  THE    MYRTLE  WREATH. 

He  is  a  little  tyrant, 
We  see  it  very  plain  ; 

And  yet  there's  not  a  rebel, 
In  all  his  vast  domain. 


Whatever  be  the  mischief 
His  little  hands  may  do. 

Tell  mother  "  it  was  baby," 
And  she  laughs  at  mischief  too. 

Are  we  ever  rudely  playing 
When  he  wills  to  go  to  sleep, 

We  hush  the  gentle  whisper, 
And  breathless  silence  keep. 

'Tis  not  by  wand  of  fairy, 
Or  beauty's  magic  spell, 

Pray  what  can  be  the  sceptre, 
With  which  he  rules  so  well  ? 

Oh  'tis  one  which  those  far  wiser, 
I  often  wish  would  hold, 

For  it  will  turn  to  softness, 
The  heart  of  sternest  mould. 


THE    UNWELCOME    BABY. 

In  the  smile  so  sweetly  playing, 
Upon  his  dimpled  cheek — 

In  the  eye  so  brightly  beaming, 
Is  the  love  he  cannot  speak. 


Stem  nt  JOB 


WHAT  right  have  women  to  travel !  What  an  intol 
erable  nuisance  they  are,  with  their  bandboxes  and 
bundles,  and  rackety  children.  I  am  not  a  believer  in  the 
"  equality  of  woman  with  a  man  in  birth  or  intellect,"  or 
<l  rights."  The  only  objection  I  have  to  the  present  ordain 
ing  of  things,  is,  that,  being  made  so  dependent,  there 
should  not  be  some  way  provided  by  which  we  may  al 
ways  have  something  to  depend  upon  !  To  be  thrown 
entirely  on  the  care  of  beings,  superior  in  every  way  and 

created  on  purpose  to  protect  and  shield  us,  and  never 

(62) 


A  STEAM  BOAT  ON  THE  OHIO.         63 

allowed  to  ask  their  protection,  is  indeed  a  distressing 
condition.  We  may  fold  our  hands  and  submissively  take 
what  is  offered,  though  it  is  not  quite  proper  to  do  this 
without  demurring  a  little,  but  to  make  known  our  wants 
is  a  departure  from  the  "  true  sphere  of  woman." 

How  I  envy  those  men, — not  the  privilege  of  smok 
ing  and  drinking  and  chewing  and  spitting,  and  roam 
ing  about  wherever  they  please,  but  all  those  papers 
which  are  strewn  about  the  table  in  the  cabin.  There 
they  sit  gossipping,  and  dozing,  and  yawning,  and 
have  never  a  thought  of  sharing  luxuries  so  easy  for 
them  to  obtain.  Whenever  the  boat  stops  at  any  impor 
tant  place  they  sally  forth  and  return  laden  with 
"  Times,"  "  Tribunes  "  and  «  Posts,"  and  when  they  have 
finished  reading,  trample  them  under  their  feet,  without 
a  thought  that  there  is  a  better  use  to  be  made  of  them. 
But  I  have  as  yet  been  very  fortunate,  so  much  so,  that 
I  ought  perhaps,  to  be  expressing  my  gratitude  instead 
of  finding  fault.  I  have  seen  every  Weekly  Times  and 
many  Dailies  since  I  left  New  York.  "  LittelPs  Living 
Age,"  and  "  Harper's  Magazine,"  and  "  Godey,"  and 
"  Graham,"  adorn  the  centre  tables  of  Ohio,  Indiana 
and  Kentucky,  as  profusely  as  they  do  those  of  New- 
England  and  New  York.  We  supplied  ourselves  with 
"  reading"  as  we  thought,  at  Louisville,  but  it  is  a  long 
way  down  the  river  from  that  city,  and  we  ai$e  moving 
very  slowly.  Our  boat  is  freighted  with  emigrants,  for 


64  THE    MYRTLE    WREATH 

we  could  not  wait  longer  for  a  "  first  class,"  and  a  motley 
assemblage  is  presented  to  our  eyes  as  we  look  around 
on  our  fellow  passengers.  A  friend  in  L.,  in  speaking 
of  the  Kentucky  emigrants,  said  if  they  were  "  so  well  to 
do  in  the  world  as  to  be  able  to  wear  hats  and  sun- 
bonnets,  they  were  considered  remarkably  prosperous." 

Eight  before  me  is  "  one  of  them,"  and  truly  the  green 
est  specimen  of  humanity  I  was  ever  permitted  to  see. 
lie  is  "  six  feet  two"  in  his  stockings.  His  hat  is  a  "  broad 
brimmed  wool,"  and  a  nice  comfortable  hat — his  coat 
is  green  "  homemade"  and  his  "  pants"  are  the  same, 
reaching,  within  a  few  inches,  of  the  top  of  his  feet.  His 
vest  is  green  also,  but  his  neckerchief  is  blue 'cotton, 
the  figure  being  small  white  rings  with  a  dot  of 
blue  in  the  centre.  His  boots  are  genuine  cowhide, 
made  for  use,  and  his  hair  of  the  lightest  flaxen  tint, 
parted  on  one  side  and  smoothed  with  no  meagre  allow 
ance  of  genuine  "  extrait  do  bcouf." 

His  hands  are  in  his  coat  pockets,  and  his  eyes  are 
resting  on  his  bride.  She  is  a  little  girl  of  fourteen  and 
she  wears  a  straw  bonnet  with  a  red  ribbon.  So  you 
see  they  are  of  the  better  class  !  Her  dress  is  "  light 
colored  calico"  cut  "  goring,"  after  the  fashion  of  our 
grandmothers.  On  her  neck  is  a  red  and  yellow  cotton 
kerchief,  brought  together  at  the  waist,  and  fastened 
with  a  green  stone,  with  a  pin  attached.  Her  stockings 
arc  of  blue  cotton,  and  her  shoes  calfskin,  tied  with 


65  A   STEAM    BOAT    ON  THE   OHIO. 

"  strings  of  the  same."  All  their  effects  are  contained 
in  a  common-sized  flag-handkerchief,  and  they  are  go 
ing  four  hundred  miles  up  the  Missouri  river  '  to  settle.' 
And  moreover,  dear  reader,  they  are  happy,  if  I  may 
judge  from  appearances,  which  I  know  are  in  such  cases, 
sometimes  deceitful. 

A  lady  unmarried  at  sixteen  is  a  "  sight"  in  these 
parts,  and  this  specimen  of  matrimonial  felicity  was  not 
lacking  in  discernment,  as  the  following  dialogue  will 
prove.  "  Are  you  married?"  said  she,  to  one  of  our 
party.  "No,"  was  the  reply.  "Wall,  I  thought  ye 
wa'nt."  "  Why,  what  made  you  think  so  ?"  "  Oh,  I 
don't  know,  kinder  coz ;  but  you've  got  on  a  putty 
gownd,"  she  continued  as  a  salve  to  her  implication. 
"  Do  you  like  it  ?"  said  my  friend.  "  Yis,  and  you're 
the  puttiest  gal  on  the  boat !"  You  would  have  trem 
bled  for  the  effect  of  this  remark  on  her  vanity  if  you 
had  seen  the  others.  There  are  "  four  new  married 
couples"  on  board,  but  only  one  need  be  described. 
They  bear  a  strong  resemblance  to  each  other,  and  are 
all  bound  to  the  same  place  with  similar  prospects. 
There  are  also  two  "  harum  scarum"  young  men, 
from  an  eastern  city,  who  persuade  them  to  dance  in 
the  evening,  for  the  amusement  of  the  company,  while 
a  young  man  who  has  "seen  enough  of  Oregon,"  plays 
Kentucky  reels  for  them  with  his  "  fiddle  and  his  bo\v.n 
A  genuine  Hoosier  who  has  committed  to  memory  an 


60  TiiE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

incredible  amount  of  Webster's  and  Everett's  speeches, 
mounts  the  table  and  overwhelms  us  with  his  elo 
quence. 

It  is  quite  worth  a  journey  hitherward  to  see  these 
varieties  of  character,  and  listen  to  the  thoughts  and 
opinions  of  those  who  have  never  received  a  sino-le  idea 

O 

from  books.  There  is  often  an  originality  which  is 
quite  refreshing,  and  most  truly  it  is  edifying,  compared 
to  the  vapid  "  wishy  washy"  conversation  in  some  of 
our  city  drawing-rooms.  The  rough  backwoodsman 
is  just  the  man  to  tell  me  about  the  trees  of  the  forest, 
and  from  his  wife  I  obtain  the  truest  idea  of  "  life  in  the 
country,"  and  especially  of  her  neighborhood  and  the 
"  neighbors." 


ucitet  b  tt 


O(TEAMBOATS  have  become  second  homes  to  me, 
JO  and  travelling  second  nature.  I  should  not 
have  believed  such  a  home  body  could  become  so  re 
conciled  to  being  "  here,  there,  and  everywhere."  "  To 
pack  a  trunk  and  get  started,"  was  once  a  day's  labor ; 
but  I  have  condensed  it  into  a  few  moments,  and  this  is 
no  slight  accomplishment.  And  then  to  ensconce  my 
self  comfortably  in  a  nut-shell,  required  more  skill  and 
cunning  than  I  was  for  a  long  time  in  pos&ssion  of. 

But  now  I  have  room  enough,  and  to  spare,  in  a  little 

(67) 


68  THE    MYRTLE  WREATH. 

cell  four  feet  by  six,  and  there  I  sew,  and  knit,  and 
read,  and  "  take  notes,"  as  if  I  were  "  monarch  of  all 
I  survey." 

Alas  !  what  a  leveller  of  all  distinctions  is  a  western 
steamboat,  and  how  I  would  like  to  lead  some  of  your 
city  exquisites  into  our  kitchen  to  witness  the  operation 
of  getting  up  a  dinner.  It  would  not  cost  much  to 
board  them  for  a  day  or  two  afterwards. 

Every  cook  that  I  have  seen  has  looked  exactly  like 
every  other  cook ;  a  sooty  giant,  but  full  of  enthusi 
asm  for  his  profession,  and  there  he  stands  over  the 
stove,  not  quite  so  huge  nor  so  black  as  himself,  with 
the  big  drops  rolling  thick  and  fast  from  his  full  round 
cheeks  into  every  dish  he  compounds,  while  some  half  a 
dozen  nimble  sprites  of  the  same  hue,  with  their  woolly 
locks  twisted  into  tails  sticking  out  perpendicularly  and 
horizontally  in  every  direction,  execute  his  orders. 

I  have  never  yet  seen  a  public  table  since  I  crossed 
the  Alleghames  without  hominy  and  beans,  and  hoe- 
cakes — but  the  corn  meal  is  not  the  rich  yellow  of  the 
New  England  grain,  and  the  hominy  is  white,  and  the 
cakes  are  far  from  yellow.  There  is  a  big  black  kettle 
in  which  one  is  stirring  some  favorite  mixture — there  is 
another  mashing  potatoes,  though  not  with  his  feet,  as 
I  was  once  credibly  informed  was  sometimes  the  case, 
but  with  something  as  ebony;  another  is  attending  to 
the  spit  and  fry-pans  ;  and  a  dozen  other  "  stews  "  and 


AN  INCIDENT  BY  THE  WAY.  69 

<(  sizzles  "  are  sputtering  in  different  parts  of  the  cook 
ing  apparatus. 

The  water  in  which  every  thing  is  boiled,  you  see 
clipped  from  the  river,  thick  with  its  rich  accumulations, 
and  those  who  pound  and  compound  have  as  little  care 
for  the  delicate  education  of  your  palate  as  for"  the  ob- 
tuseness  of  the'ir  own.  "  And  is  it  possible  you  can  eat 
such  a  dinner  after  having  seen  it  in  its  several  stages 
of  preparation  ?"  I  hear  you  ask.  To  be  sure — what 
else  is  to  be  done  with  an  appetite  grown  ravenous  un 
der  the  tutelage  of  this  constant  exercise,  and  these 
fine  breezes.  Every  body  must  eat  a  peck  of  dirt,  you 
know,  and  no  more  is  allowed  to  each  individual — so 
you  might  as  well  take  it  at  one  time  as  at  another. 
And  then  these  sooty  sprites  come  up  all  "shiny  and 
new  "  to  wait  upon  Madame  and  Miss,  arid  whisper  in 
their  ears,  and  reach  over  their  shoulders  at  table.  One 
might  be  excused  for  squirming  a  little,  but  what's  the 
use  ?  There  is  no  greater  folly  than  to  set  out  on  a 
tour,  whether  it  be  in  Europe,  Asia,  or  America,  with 
the  idea  that  people  must  conform  to  you,  instead  of 
your  comforming  to  them.  And  there  is  no  truer  way 
by  which  to  judge  of  the  bringing  up  of  your  fellow- 
passengers  than  the  way  they  take  things. 

An  amusing  scene  occurred  ut  our  table  to  day.  "We 
had  all  noticed  a  dashing,  dandy  young  Southerner, 
with  the  airs  of  a  prince,  and  dress  of  a  nabob,  "  with 


70  THE    MYKTLE  WllEATH. 

rings  on  his  fingers,"  if  not  "  bells  on  his  toes,"  order 
ing  and  strutting  about,  and  had  really  longed  for  his 
humiliation,  when  we  found  that  two  not  so  green  Ver- 
rnoriters  had  undertaken  the  task.  They  took  their 
seats  opposite  him,  and  one  had  obtained  various  lea 
ther  and  iron  ornaments  with  which  he  had  decked  his 
yeoman  figure,  and  took  especial  pains  to  parade  to  the 
greatest  advantage.  A  saddle  ring  was  on  his  fore 
finger,  upon  which  he  rested  his  chin  with  the  most 
sentimental  air,  and  as  nearly  as  it  was  possible  for  a 
Northern  common-sense  man  to  do,  assumed  the  airs 
of  a  Southern  conceited  ignoramus.  A  servant  stood 
behind  his  chair,  who  had  been  previously  initiated  into 
his  duties  and  liberally  prepaid  for  his  obedience,  and 
every  five  minutes  he  was  called  upon  to  attend  to 
"  Massa," — to  hand  him  this  and  to  hand  him  that.  If 
he  departed  a  few  feet,  as  he  often  did  for  effect,  he 
\vas  called  back  with  a  serious  reprimand,  to  which  he 
only  replied  with  increased  complaisance — and  yet  not 
a  smile  crossed  the  visage  of  the  actor,  though  all  who 
could  view  the  scene  were  convulsed  with  suppressed 
laughter. 

The  face  of  him,  who  was  thus  caricatured,  was 
bloated  with  rage,  for  he  evidently  understood  it  all  too 
well,  though  there  was  no  direct  incivility  to  him,  but 
on  the  contrary  the  most  studied  suavity,  and  he  could 
make  no  complaint,  as  it  is  a  free  country  on  the  Mis- 


AN    INCIDENT    BY    THE    WAY.  71 

sissippi  river,  if  not  on  all  its  borders  !  and  the  gentle 
man  opposite  had  as  good  a  right  to  wear  leather  rings, 
and  to  display  them,  as  his  friend  had  to  wear  gilt  and 
tinsel.  And  he  had  also  a  right  to  be  waited  upon  in 
the  most  assiduous  manner,  if  he  paid  for  the  service. 

I  assure  you  the  cabin  echoed  with  merriment  when 
dinner  was  fairly  over,  but  the  poor  fellow,  whom  we 
actually  began  to  pity,  was  never  heard  of  more.  He 
availed  himself  of  the  first  landing  to  disappear  among 
the  cotton  trees.  We  then  learned  that  he  had  felt 
insulted  by  the  presence  of  one,  who  had  not,  in  his 
eyes,  the  marks  of  a  gentleman,  and  he  had  requested 
the  steward  to  remand  such  a  nuisance  as  a  man  in  a 
plain  cloth  coat  and  roundabout  to  the  lower  deck, 
among  those  more  akin  to  him  in  appearance.  So  my 
countryman  thought  he  would  be  revenged.  He  did 
not  budge  an  inch  from  his  position  which  he  had  a 
right  to  retain,  having  paid  the  full  cabin  price,  but  he 
did  not  tell  all — which  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  learn 
confidentially,  being  just  as  green  as  he,  and  coming 
from  the  same  Green  Mountain  State — that  he  had  in 
his  pocket  $30,000  in  California  gold,  which  he  thought 
entitled  him  to  the  respect  of  even  a  Southern  planter  ! 


OH  that  some  image  of  my  mother's  form 
I  might  retrace.     Too  early  called  away 
For  me  to  know  her  virtues  or  her  worth 
The  hallowed  name  my  lips  could  scarcely  lisp, 
When  death  deprived  me  of  her  tender  care. 
I  knew  not  why  we  round  her  dying  bed 
Were  called,  nor  why  she  clasped  me  in  her  arms, 
And  moved  her  lips  so  fervently  in  prayer, 
Nor  when  within  her  pale  and  wasted  hand 
She  pressed  each  hand  of  all  that  mourning  group 
That  blessing  them  her  dying  words  she  spoke. 

(72) 


MY    MOTHER.  73 

I  ne'er  was  taught  by  her  my  evening  hymn  ; — 
Story  nor  song,  I  know  not,  which  her  voice 
Imparted  to  my  listening  ear.     No  smile, 
Nor  look  nor  tone,  is  on  my  memory's  page 
Impressed.     No  mother  e'er  my  pillow  smoothed, 
Hushed  me  to  slumber  in  my  cradle  bed. 
Or  led  in  infancy  my  faltering  feet. 

How  often  have  I  knelt  beside  the  stone 
That  marks  her  burial  place,  and  loved  to  think 
Her  spirit  hovered  o'er  me  there  and  blessed 
Her  orphan  child  ;  and  then  have  turned  and  wept 
In  bitterness  of  heart,  and  slowly  traced 
My  homeward  steps,  to  find  within  that  home 
No  shrine  e'er  sacred  to  the  joys  and  woes 
Confiding  childhood  feels.     How  oft  they  chid 
My  grief,  and  asked  me  why  I  shed  those  tears ; 
And  yet  I  could  not  tell,  but  turned  away, 
Sought  some  secluded  place,  and  wept  the  more. 

'Twas  strange  that  sadness  thus  should  cloud  a  brow 
Where  only  pleasure's  halo  should  have  shone — 
That  one  whose  path  was  strewn  with  flowers,  and  all 
The  world  could  yield  of  bright  and  beautiful, 
Should  sigh  in  loneliness.     They  never  dreamed 
That  one  so  young  could  pine  for  sympathy, 
4 


74  THE    MYRTLE    WREATH. 

Or  mourn  a  mother  she  had  never  known. 
Thus  days  and  months,  and  years  have  passed  away, 
And  yet  no  balm  hath  soothed  my  bleeding  heart, 
No  bliss  hath  filled  the  aching  void  within ! 


Some  other  form  may  kindly  hover  o'er 

The  restless  couch ; — some  other  hand  may  fan 

The  fevered  brow,  may  cool  the  parching  lips, 

And  bathe  the  throbbing  temples.     Words  of  peace 

And  comfort  may  be  whispered  by  some  voice 

In  soothing  accents  and  in  gentle  tones, 

And  consolation  come  from  stranger  hearts ; 

Yet  none  but  a  fond  mother  can  receive 

Each  thought  and  feeling  of  the  inmost  soul, 

Share  every  joy  and  woe,  and  hear  each  tale 

Of  childish  sorrow  with  unwearying  ear. 

Though  she  may  chide,  it  is  affection's  proof; 

The  fountain  of  her  love  flows  ever  full. 

Though  to  the  dregs  she  drink  affliction's  cup, 

Though  cold  adversity  may  shed  its  blight 

On  every  wreath  and  garland  hope  may  weave ; 

Though  disappointment  crush  her  energies, 

And  every  other  tie  that  binds  her  down 

To  earth  be  severed,  still  she  lingers  here 

With  angel's  love  to  cherish  those  she  bore. 


MY    MOTHER.  75 

Yes,  and  though  sin  may  stamp  its  mark 
Upon  the  brow  her  lips  so  fondly  pressed 
In  infant  innocence,  and  o'er  the  cheek 
So  oft  caressed  in  cherub  beauty,  guilt 
May  spread  its  sable  hue,  and  scorn  put  forth 
Her  slow  unmoving  finger,  branding  him 
With  shame  and  infamy,  yet  still,  unchanged 
And  pure,  more  brightly  beams  a  mother's  love. 

Oh,  priceless  gem,  whose  lustre  never  dims, 
But  brighter  blazes  'mid  the  storms  of  life, 
Thy  hallowed  ray  may  never  guide  me  on 
Through  earth's  dark  pilgrimage,  but  may  that  pearl 
"Whose  holy  light  alone  can  thine  excel, 
The  beacon  of  my  lonely  way  become, 
And  point  me  upwards  to  that  glorious  realm 
Where  all  is  purity  ;  where  I  may  rest 
With  her  who  fondly  clasped  her  little  ones, 
And  breathed  her  spirit  out  in  prayer,  that  she 
Might  meet  them  all  again  in  yon  bright  world, 
Where  partings  shall  be  heard  no  more  forever. 


TJTJLWER  denies  to  the  celebrated  Beau  Brummcll 
1  J  the  right  to  the  title  of  gentleman,  because  he  was 
often  guilty  of  alluding  to  personal  deformities  and  mis 
fortunes  in  the  presence  of  those  possessing  them,  which 
no  person  with  the  feelings  of  a  gentleman  could  do 
inadvertently,  and  no  person  of  common  humanity 
would  do  intentionally. 

I  have  been  thinking  that  if  this  standard  were  uni 
versally  applied  there  would  be  few   who   would  be 

rightly  termed  gentlemen  or  ladies.     How  common  it  is 

(76) 


TEEMS  OF   REPROACH.  77 

among  all  classes  to  speak  in  terms  of  contempt  of  per 
sons  in  various  conditions  or  occupying  painful  positions, 
for  the  circumstances  of  which  they  are  not  at  all  re 
sponsible.  How  common  it  is  to  allude  to  the  aged  in 
a  manner  which  implies  contempt  for  all  who  are  old. 
Many  children  are  in  the  habit  of  calling  their  Parents 
"  the  old  man,"  and  il  the  old  woman,"  in  tones  of  dis 
respect,  which  imply  that  age  in  their  eyes  is  con 
temptible. 

To  tell  a  person,  he  is  an  "old  granny"  if  he  is  dis 
agreeable,  is  a  common  way  of  expressing  contempt. 
"  Granny"  used  to  be,  and  still  is  in  some  places,  the 
familiar  term  by  which  children  are  taught  to  address 
a  grandmother.  Age  may  have  enfeebled  her  body  and 
impaired  her  mental  faculties,  but  these  are  infirmities 
which  she  cannot  help,  and  which  should  purchase  for 
her  greater  consideration  and  kindness.  To  fasten  upon 
a  man  this  epithet  is  a  sure  method  to  cover  him  with 
ridicule,  and  authors  and  editors  often  use  it  in  a  way 
which  is  both  vulgar  and  wicked. 

It  is  common  to  find  in  books  allusions  to  various 
physical  defects  in  a  way  which  must  be  torture  like  the 
rack  and  thumbscrew  to  those  who  possess  them.  How 
universally  is  homeliness  made  a  matter  of  reproach. 
Every  person  knows  and  will  confess  that  it  is  no  dis 
grace  to  be  lame,  or  to  be  plain  in  features,  or  inferior 
in  form,  and  no  person  whose  regard  is  of  any  value, 


78  THE    MYKTLE  WREATH. 

would  deliberately  speak  or  act  in  a  manner  to  wound 
another  on  those  points. 

Hood  says  "  much  evil  is  often  wrought  for  want  of 
thought  as  well  as  want  of  heart."  How  often  the  heart- 

O 

less  rich  trample  on  the  feelings  of  the  poor.  The  smile 
of  ridicule  often  meets  the  eye  of  the  stammerer  when 
every  attempt  to  speak  is  anguish  to  his  spirit.  How 
much  grace  is  necessary  in  the  deaf  to  meet  with  com 
placency  those  who  "  rnock  at  their  calamity."  How 
little  sympathy  is  bestowed  on  wounded  affection,  and 
how  ready  aro  the  multitude  to  trample  on  a  broken 
heart. 

The  allotted  portion  of  a  lonely  and  desolate  hearted 
woman,  is  scorn,  all  the  days  of  her  life.  What  daugh 
ter  has  not  heard  the  prophecy  that  she  would  be  an 
"  old  maid"  reiterated  as  the  most  degrading  of  all  the 
calamities  which  could  be  foreboded  ? 

As  a  consequence  of  this  sentiment,  so  prevailing,  and 
so  thoroughly  inculcated,  a  young  lady  of  beauty  and 
fashion  was  heard  to  say,  she  would  commit  suicide 
before  she  would  live  to  be  the  object  of  such  oppro 
brium.  The  chronicles  of  hospitals  and  the  "  dia 
ries  of  physicians,"  inform  us,  that  hundreds  and  thou 
sands  go  forth  to  voluntary  self-degradation,  seeking  the 
lowest  haunts  of  vice  to  screen  them  from  the  reproach 
which  a  Christian  community  seem  to  consider  as  justly 
belonging  to  a  virtuous  unmaried  woman.  An  orphan, 


TERMS  OF  REP ROACH.  79 

whose  parents  had  wickedly  deserted  her,  was  neglected 
and  made  to  feel  every  day  and  hour,  by  the  looks  and 
tones  of  the  thoughtless  and  heartless  around  her,  that 
she  had  neither  home,  nor  kindred,  nor  friends,  and 
therefore  could  not  be  their  equal. 

How  universally  are  the  hearts  of  children  wrung  and 
agonized  by  the  taunts  of  their  playfellows  concerning 
the  sins  of  their  parents.  How  universal  are  the  terms 
"  Paddy,"  and  "  nigger,"  used  as  terms  of  reproach,  yet 
it  is  no  sin  to  have  been  born  in  Ireland,  or  to  inherit 
a  colored  skin.  On  remarking  this  to  a  lady,  she  seemed 
astonished  at  the  idea,  that  these  classes  felt  the  scorn 
thus  heaped  upon  them.  But  they  do  feel,  and  the 
words  and  looks  of  reproach  that  meet  them  at  every 
step,  rankle  like  sharp  arrows  in  their  bosom.  Any 
unpleasant  peculiarity,  not  caused  by  sin,  which  distin 
guishes  a  man  from  his  fellows,  and  makes  him  an  ob 
ject  of  remark,  it  is  unchristian,  unprincipled,  and 
grossly  vulgar,  to  make  a  matter  of  reproach. 


gaulw 


I  WAS  sitting  in  a  lone  corner  of  a  brilliant  parlor, 
feeling  particularly  lonely,  surrounded  with  a  multi 
tude,  whom  I  knew  not,  and  who  knew  not  me,  and 
more  than  all,  who  did  not  care,  when  I  was  accosted 
by  a  funny  little  man,  who  took  his  chair  and  seated 
himself  by  my  side  sans  ceremonie,  and  began  immedi 
ately  to  entertain  me  after  this  wise. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,"  said  he,  "  I  never  courted 
but  one  gal  in  my  life,  except  my  wife,  and  I'll  tell  you 
how  it  was :  I  began  to  think  I  was  about  old  enough 

(80) 


A  YANKP:K  COUIITSHIP.  81 

to — to  have  somebody  take  care  of  me;  my  mother  was 
feeble,  and  my  sister  was  married,  though  I  had  two 
that  were  not.  I  don't  know  why.  I  believe  they  had 
applications  enough,  but  somehow  they  didn't  suit; 
and  I  asked  my  mother  what  she  thought  about  Sally 
Jane,  the  daughter  of  one  of  our  neighbors. 

"  A  right  smart  girl  she  was,  Sally  Jane,  and  one  of 
the  best  dispositioned  girls  you  ever  see.  I  used  to  see 
her  most  every  day,  and  kept  waiting  to  ask  her  to 
"  keep  company,"  but  could  never  get  it  out ;  so  I  went 
down  to  see  my  brother  one  day  about  a  lot  of  land  that 
lay  next  to  Sally  Jane's  father's — only  her  father  was 
dead,  yon  know,  and  the  land  was  all  hers  now — and  I 
just  told  him  how  it  was,  and  how  I  felt  right  here, 
(laying  his  hand  on  his  heart,)  and  asked  him  what  I 
should  do.  He  said  I  better  not  "  go  to  see  her  "  till  I 
had  asked  her  if  I  might,  and  advised  me  to  pluck  up 
courage  and  speak  right  away. 

"  So  the  next  morning,  I  got  up  very  early,  and  went 
over,  determined  to  have  it  out.  You  know— just  to 
ivliisper  sometJdng  in  her  ear." 

Here  the  little  man  stopped  to  take  breath,  and  I  was 
almost  convulsed  with  laughter  at  his  queer  ways  and 
strange  communicativeness  with  one  to  whom  he  had 
never  spoken  before.  But  very  willing  to  hear  the 
sequel  of  such  a  story,  I  now  begged  him  to  proceed, 
and  he  said,  "  Oh,  yes,  I  am  going  to  tell  you.  Very 


82  THE    MYRTLE    WREATH. 

early  in  the  morning  I  started  off,  and  found  Sally  Jane 
in  the  cucumber  yard.  Her  brother  Robert  had  been 
trying  to  have  me  buy  a  horse  of  him,  but  I  didn't  want 
the  horse,  you  see,  because,  though  he  was  a  good 
horse  enough  every  other  way,  they  said  whenever  he 
was  tied  to  a  post  or  fence,  or  what  not,  he  would 
nibble  and  nibble  at  everything  he  could  reach,  and  do 
more  mischief  than  you  could  tell.  So  I  wouldn't  buy 
the  horse,  and  Robert  was  kind  o'  out  of  sorts ;  but  I 
didn't  mind  him,  I  was  thinking  so  much  about  Sally 
Jane,  so  I  walked  right  into  the  cucumber  yard,  and 
followed  round  among  the  vines,  till  at  last,  just  as  she 
was  going  into  the  house,  1  went  close  up  and  said, 
"Will  you  keep  company  to  night?"  and  she  said, 
right  off,  "  She  didn't  choose."  And  I  scampered  off 
like  a  good  fellow. 

"  Now,  I  never  knew  whether  it  was  because  I 
wasn't  dandy  and  spruce  enough,  or  whether  it  was 
about  the  horse ;  or,  perhaps,  she  was  thinking  I  was 
after  the  land  which  mine  joined — but  I  wasn't;  I  never 
thought  of  it  .But  I  went  right  and  sold  mine,  when, 
if  I  had  only  waited,  I  might  have  got  six  hundred 
dollars  more,  for  it  was  real  rich  meadow  land — down 
in  Connecticut,  you  know,  right  on  the  river." 

By  this  timo  my  immoderate  laughter  had  attracted 
an  audience,  and  my  little  corner  and  its  scene  became 
the  ol>jop.t  of  much  curiosity. 


A    YANKEE  COURTSHIP.  83 

The  little  man  was  the  greatest  enigma  I  have  ever 
found;  but  I  thought  at  least  I  would  try  to  solve,  it, 
so  I  begged  him  to  give  us  the  history  of  his  successful 
courtship ;  to  which  he  consented,  and  immediately  re 
sumed,  saying,  "  Oh,  yes ;  the  next  time  I  was  more 
careful.  Eliza  Ann  was  one  of  our  neighbors,  and  they 
used  to  buy  milk  of  us ;  and  for  a  whole  year,  I  used  to 
go  in  most  every  day  to  carry  the  milk  ;  but  I  didn't 
say  anything,  nor  do  anything  either.  For  I  tell  you 
what;  I  think  it  is  abominable,  it  is  abominable,  and  I 
always  say  so  to  all  young  men — it  is  mean,  and  one  of 
the  wickedest  things  in  natur',  for  a  feller  to  kind  o' 
keep  a  girl  along ;  "  keeping  company,"  and  pretending 
to  like  her,  and  then  leave  her ;  'cause,  you  see,  if  he 
had  kept  away,  somebody  better  might  have  gone  and 
married  her,  and  give  her  a  happy  home ;  and  he,  per 
haps  has  made-  her  miserable  for  life  ! 

Now,  I  really  began  to  like  the  little  man,  and  con 
trast  his  noble  soul,  in  so  rough  and  queer  a  casket, 
with  some  of  those  polished,  butterfly,  soulless  and 
heartless  popinjays  by  whom  he  was  surrounded.  I 
wish  they  could  have  heard  his  earnest  words,  and  seen 
his  earnest  gestures,  as  he  denned  his  ideas  of  honor.  I 
interrupted  him,  to  speak  a  word  of  commendation,  and 
then  begged  him  to  proceed. 

"  Well,  I  was  never  guilty  of  disappointing  a  woman. 
But,  by  and  by,  Eliza  Ann  moved  up  to  H ,  (about 


84  THE    MYRTLE  WREATH. 

fifteen  miles,)  and  I  thought,  after  a  while,  I  would  go 
to  see  her,  for  I  wanted  a  wife,  and  begun  ^p  feel  really 
bad  thinking  what  I  should  do  if  I  was  sick.  So,  one 
cold  winter's  day,  I  drove  up  and  went  in,  and  had  not 
been  there  but  a  little  while  before  they  made  up  a  fire 
in  the  other  room,  and  asked  me  to  walk  in.  Pretty 
soon,  Eliza  Ann  came  and  began  to  talk  about  mat 
ters  and  things.  I  was  kind  o'  sick — you  know  how — 
not  knowing  how  I  should  ever  say  what  I  wanted  to; 
but  at  last  I  broke  the  ice,  and  asked  her  if  she  could 
ever  think  of  going  home  to  live  with  me.  '  Why,7  said 
she,  '  can't  you  find  girls  enough  in  C — ?'  So,  I  see 
she  didn't  want  to  answer  '  Yes  '  right  off — you  know 
they  never  do — and  I  told  her  she  need  not  answer  at 
all  now,  because  I  wanted  her  to  ask  her  relations,  and 
consider  about  it,  and  in  three  weeks  I  would  come  up 
and  hear  what  she  had  to  say. 

"  I  was  kind  of  uneasy  all  them  three  weeks,  I  tell 
you,  though  I  was  pretty  sure  what  Eliza  Ann  would 
say;  and  when  I  wont  up,  I  see  in  a  minute  how  it  was 
— and  in  three  weeks  more  I  went  up,  and  took  her 
home.  But  would  you  believe  it? — I  was  so  modest, 
that  all  the  time  I  was  courting  her,  I  never  gave  her  a 
single  smack.  I've  asked  her  since  what  she  thought 
of  me,  and  she  said  she  thought  I  was  dreadful  modest." 

Here  I  interrupted  him,  to  ask  if  he  had  never  repent 
ed  his  choice,  and  his  hearty  "  never,"  would  have  done 


A    YANKEE    COURTSHIP.  85 

Eliza  Ann  good,  though  he  said  she  had  been  always 
sick.  I  told  him  I  hoped  he  had  taken  good  care  of 
her,  and  he  said  :  "  As  true  as  I  live,  I  don't  believe  she 
would  find  a  word  of  fault." 

But  then,  he  added,  "I  have  always  felt  kind  o'  bad 
about  Sally  Jane ;  for,  you  see,  I  liked  her."  "  Did 
you  ?  "  said  I.  "  Why,  yes,  else  I  shouldn't  have  felt  so 
bad  here,  you  know,  (placing  his  hands  upon  his  chest.) 
For  about  a  year  and  a  half,  after  she  treated  me  so, 
there  came  along  a  dandy,  strutting,  buck  of  a  fellow, 
and  she  had  him  right  off,  and  he  spent  all  of  her  proper 
ty  ;  and  in  less  than  two  years,  she  was  laid  in  her  grave." 

Here  the  tea  bell  interrupted  our  colloquy,  but  it  was 
again  resumed  when  I  had  fairly  seated  myself  in  my 
lone  corner  again  as  my  funny  little  friend  appeared  and 
said  he  would  like  to  have  another  chat,  though  'tis  lit 
tle  of  the  chatting  I  do,  when  he  is  by.  How  do  you 
like  these  gay  ladies,  said  I,  and  all  these  fine  dresses  ? 
"  Oh,  I  like  'em  ;  I  like  to  look  at  'em ;  they  are  tasty  ; 
but,  we  might  as  well  have  so  many  wax-dolls  or  pup 
pets  dressed  up ;  what  are  they  good  for,  except  to  dis 
play  French  gewgaws  t—that  I  don't  like— so  much 
French  stuff;  it  takes  the  money  out  of  the  country;  and 
brings  back,  not  only  French  flummery,  but  French 
manners  and  French  morals ,'  and  there  is  plenty  of  all 
kinds  at  Saratoga."  But  I  suggested  that  if  the  gew 
gaws  were  not  made  in  this  country,  what  should, 


THE    MYRTLE  WREATH. 

\ve  l  do   but   send   to   France,  or  wherever  they  were 
made.     "  Why,  to  be  sure,  if  you  must  wear  them," 
said    he ;  "  but   is  there  no  such  thing  as   convincing 
women  what  fools  they  are  to  be  rigging   themselves 
out  in  this  style — doing  nothing  but  dress,  and  dance, 
and  flirt  ?"     No  indeed,  I  assured  him  whilst  men  were 
more  pleased  with  the  dressing  and  dancing,  and  flirt 
ing,  than  with  anything  else.     Do  you  suppose  these 
ladies  spend  two  or  three  hours  a  day  at  their  toilettes 
to  please   themselves  ?     They  would  be  floating  about 
here  in  negliges,  as  easy  and  careless  as  the  Indian  girl 
on  the  prairie,  in  her  blanket  arid  mocasins,  were  there 
none  but  ladies  to  gaze  and  admire.     But  he  insist 
ed  upon  it,  that  man  did  not  admire — it  was  only  a  race 
of  pigmies,  half  way  between  human  beings  and  mon 
keys,  with  not  half  an  idea  in  their  heads — with  not 
the  slightest  resemblance  to  a  soul,  and  nothing  in  the 
shape  of  a  heart.     "  Very  little  time  would  be  spent  in 
dancing  if  ladies  danced  alone,  or  ladies  alone  looked  on  ; 
but  those  who  are  educated  for  such  a  life  must  live  in 
this  way — what  else  can  they  do  ?     Just  look  around 
to  see  how  many  fathers  come  here  with  their  daugh 
ters,  to  lavish  on  them  money  and  dress,  and  every  ex 
travagant  indulgence, — and  all  for  what?     Ah,  I  waa 
musing  in  my  corner  the  other  night,  when  I  heard  one 
of  those  curtain  lectures  which  produce  such  sad  con- 
sequences,  and  which  daughters  are  alone  blamed  for 


A   YANKEE    COURTSHIP.  87 

originating.  "  Remember,  I  have  brought  you  here  to 
get  married — everything  else  has  been  tried.  I  have 
educated  you,  and  accomplished  you,  and  taken  you  to 
this  place  and  that  place,  till  there  seems  no  hope  of 
getting  rid  of  you.  No  old  maids  will  I  have  in  my 
house — so,  remember  to  play  your  cards  well  this  time, 
for  it  is  the  last  I  can  do  for  you."  These  were  the 
words  of  a  father,  and  the  daughters  went  forth  to 
smile  and  simper,  and  dress  and  dance ;  but,  alas,  for 
the  getting  married.  I  fear  they  are  doomed  to  that 
terrible  life  for  women — solitude,  and  idleness,  a  father's 
displeasure,  and  brother's  contempt,  because  they  are 
to  be  supported,  and  the  money  is  all  needed  for  other 
purposes — to  establish  sons,  perhaps,  and  set  them  up  in 
business.  Poor  girls,  I  pitied  them,  with  their  heavy 
hearts  beneath  all  their  tinsel  and  gauze,  and  the  leaden 
consciousness  that  they  had  not  the  attractions  that  in 
sure  matrimony,  and  were  allowed  no  agency  in  the 
matter,  but  to  maneuver,  therefore,  must  endure  the 
bitter  scorn  all  their  lives  which  failures  are  sure  to 
purchase.  Stratagems  in  war  and  love  are  only  honora 
ble  when  they  procure  victory. 

Society  compels  woman  to  all  manner  of  deception 
and  artifice  to  secure  herself  a  position  ;  and  if  she  tri 
umphs  all  honor  is  awarded  :  but  woe  to  her  whose 
snares  are  too  visible  to  catch  the  unwary. 

I  have  looked  deeper  into  the  whys  and  wherefores 


88  THE   MYHTLE  WREATH. 

than  some  who  sketch  manners  in  such  a  place  as  this. 
I  have  seen  the  tears  and  heard  the  secret  sighs  of  those 
who  abhor  the  life  they  lead — who  are  ready  to  sink 
with  shame  and  humiliation ;  they  feel  that  they  act 
from  compulsion,  and  are  scorned  for  the  act.  They 
are  laboring  in  the  only  way  which  is  permitted  them  to 
enter  upon  the  "  only  proper  sphere  of  woman,"  to  pro 
vide  themselves  **  a  husband,  home,  and  a  quiet,  domes 
tic  life ;"  but  oh,  the  anxiety  and  heart-burnings,  the 
envy,  and  jealousy,  and  malice,  and  spite,  which  is 
engendered  in  the  hearts  of  those  who  are  thus  striving. 

It  is  visible  here,  if  not  elsewhere,  that  woman  needs 
elevating — there  should  be  something  else  in  life  for  her 
than  this  one  position,  or  else  it  should  be  secured  to 
her  in  a  way  that  does  not  degrade  and  debase  her 
whole  nature. 

I  look  around  and  wonder  why  it  is  they  grow  old  so 
fast — wh}7"  they  are  so  early  withered  and  wrinkled  and 
haggard.  Oh,  it  is  those  dark  and  corroding  passions, 
settling  in  their  bosoms — gnawing  and  wasting— secret 
anguish,  wringing  the  life  blood  from  their  hearts,  and 
deepening  the  furrows  upon  the  cheeks,  ere  they  have 
scarce  begun  to  live. 

But  here  exclaims  some  wise  man  counsellor,  "  Let 
them  stay  at  home  and  be  content  !"  Dear  Sir,  how 
long  could  you  stay  at  home  and  be  content  ?  You 
have  a  profession  which  occupies  your  time  and  thoughts. 


A    YANKEE    COURTSHIP.  89 

You  have  money  to  travel  when  care  and  thought  need 
to  be  dissipated,  and  you  can  go,  independent  of  escorts 
and  attendants,  without  reproach.  You  have  ambition 
to  be  gratified,  and  fame  is  a  bright  beacon  in  your 
pathway,  alluring  you  onward,  and  beguiling  you  of 
all  tediousness.  If  you  desire  love  and  domestic  happi 
ness,  you  can  seek  this,  too.  and  do  it  openly  arid  honor 
ably  and  have  no  fears  of  disappointment.  Imagine,  if 
you  can,  all  these  things  taken  from  you,  and  how  con 
tent  would  you  be,  with  folded  hands,  waiting  for  the 
only  boon  in  life  that  can  confer  on  you  happiness  and 
activity,  and  an  honorable  position.  I  would  like  to  see 
you  tried.  I  have  now  and  then  seen  one  of  the  lords 
of  creation  confined  within  four  walls  from  indisposition 
which  was  only  temporary ;  but  he  was  not  the  exem 
plification  of  contentment ! 

Here  we  were  once  more  interrupted,  and  I  did  not 
again  see  my  little  friend  till  I  had  fairly  put  him  in 
print,  and  trembled  a  little  lest  I  had  forfeited  his 
friendship. 

"  Now,  what  will  you  say  to  me  ?"  I  asked,  as  soon 
as  I  met  him,  "  for  printing  you  and  sending  you  all 
over  the  land  ?" 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  should  not  care,  only  I  am  afraid 
my  wife  Eliza  will  feel  bad  when  she  knows  I  ever 
courted  Sally  Jane." 

"  Perhaps  she  will  never  hear  of  it.     I  hope  she  will 


90  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

not,  for  I  should  feel  sadly  if  I  \vere  to  cause  such  a 
pang  in  a  woman's  heart,  though  I  think  it  would  have 
been  better  if  you  had  told  her  yourself.  I  suppose  in 
this  you  were  like  other  men  ;  at  least  you  tried  to  make 
her  believe  you  never  loved  any  lady  but  her.  This  is 
the  way  with  the  men." 

"  Oh,  I  said  nothing  about  it,  you  see,  because  she 
might  be  afraid  I  was  giving  her  only  apiece  of  a  heart, 
and  then  perhaps  she  would  say  she  had  rather  not  have 
any  if  she  could  not  have  a  whole  one." 

"  But  honesty  is  the  best  policy,  always,  and  decep 
tion  never.  A  true  woman  would  not  love  a  man  the 
less,  but  perpaps  the  more,  for  having  experienced  a  dis 
appointment,  if  he  would  only  frankly  tell  her.  Now 
you  will  be  always  fearing  that  Eliza  Ann  will  hear  of 
it,  and  you  will  not  have  a  minute  of  peace." 

But  he  did  not  seem  to  be  greatly  troubled,  and  I 
parted  with  him  scarcely  expecting  to  ever  hear  from 
him  more.  Imagine  my  surprise,  to  receive  not  many 
weeks  afterwards  a  special  messenger,  assuring  me  that 
"  his  wife  Eliza  did  not  care  nothing  at  all  about  it,  be 
cause  he  courted  Sally  Jane,  and  sent  her  love  to  me, 
and  would  like  to  have  me  make  them  a  visit." 


OH  I  had  dreamed  of  sadness, 
And  thought  I  knew  of  pain; 

I  had  talked  of  madness 

And  the  fever's  burnipg  brain. 

I  had  wept  and  called  it  sorrow 

That  bedewed  my  cheek  with  tears, 
While  the  smile  of  gay  to-morrow 

Effaced  those  shadowy  fears. 

(91) 


THE    MYRTLE    WREATH. 

I  had  yet  to  learn  that  anguish 
Could  fill  the  yearning  breast 

And  the  weary  spirit  languish 
For  the  ne'er  returning  rest. 

That  midnight's  sombre  shadows 

So  heavily  could  roll, 
That  the  heart  seemed  ever  beating 

The  death-knell  of  the  soul. 

And  when  its  wasting  vigils 
The  mind  no  more  could  keep, 

It  seemed  that  frowning  demons 
Were  the  guardians  of  sleep. 

And  Oh,  the  dread  awaking 

From  those  slumbers  dark  and  cold, 
"When  the  heart  seems  madly  breaking 

To  crumble  with  the  mould ! 

When  bruised  and  sorrow  laden 

It  bleeds  at  every  pore, 
With  every  heart-string  broken 

And  crushed  the  very  core. 


THE  BREAKING    HEART.  93 

When  e'en  the  gladsome  morning 

No  longer  beams  with  light, 
And  the  sunbeams  and  the  dew  drops 

Seem  wedded  with  the  night. 


o 


No  more  in  dreams  I  revel, 
Nor  fairy  fancies  know, 

33 ut  the  spirit's  silent  moaning 
With  its  weary  weight  of  woo. 


Wtofo  far  WBamt. 


NOT  long  ago  I  heard  a  celebrated  Doctor  of  Divinity 
lecture  upon  "  Woman,"  and  if  experience  and  ob 
servation  had  not  taught  me  better,  I  should  have  gone 
home  thinking  the  earth  was  actually  blessed  with  a 
company  of  angels.  There  was  not  an  allusion  to  any 
real  deficiency  in  the  character,  wants,  or  occupations 
of  the  gentle  sex — they  were  unmitigated  blessings.  In 
moral  qualities  they  were  represented  as  far  superior  to 
man,  and  in  some  intellectual  qualities,  quite  his  equal ! 
In  perception  and  judgment  they  excelled,  but  in  inven- 

(94) 


A  WOliD  FOR  WOMAN.  95 

tion  they  were  inferior.  This  is  the  point  in  his  remarks 
to  which  I  intended  to  come,  and  no  farther,  for,  dear 
reader,  I  am  giving  an  abstract  of  a  learned  lecturer,  in 
order  to  elucidate  my  subject. 

But  just  as  the  good  man  had  made  this  remark,  a 
lady  turned  to  me  and  said,  "Just  think  of  alljthe  bags 
of  crochet  and  cucumber  seeds, — the  purses  of  knitting 
and  netting,  and  knotting — the  counterpanes  pieced  in 
diamonds,  and  squares,  and  semi  circles,  and  quilted  in 
ginger-bread,  love-knots,  and  l  herring-bone,' — of  the 
divans,  and  ottomans,  and  the  tete-a-tetes,  all  covered 
with  block-work  of  satin  and  velvet,  over  which  the  brain 
has  puzzled  days,  and  weeks,  and  months — just  think  of 
the  devices  in  all  manner  of  purple  and  fine  linen — of 
the  worsted  work,  with  its  infinite  variety  of  roses  and 
posies, — its  dogs,  and  fawns,  and  cats;  and  then  the 
laces  and  muslins,  with  the  millions  of  invisible  stitches, 
over  which  eyes  have  dimmed  and  fingers  ached. 

What,  a  variety  of  patterns,  and  what  a  variety  of 
forms  for  every  article  embroidered — to  say  nothing  of 
dame  Fashion's  wonderful  proofs  of  the  development 
of  this  organ,  presuming  that  Madame  Fashion  is  in  a 
majority  of  times,  and  seasons,  and  places,  a  woman. 
Look  at  the  plates  which  adorn  the  Magazines,  the  mul 
tiplicity  of  flounces,  and  frills,  and  furbelows.  Then 
number  the  various  departments  of  housewifery — bow 
are  those  employed  who  study  household  good,  "  and 


96  THE   MYRTLE  WREATH. 

good  works  in  their  husbands  do  promote?"  We  might 
go  on  enumerating,  but  surely  we  have  demonstrated 
that  all  the  leisure  hours  of  women  are  devoted  to  inven 
tions.  Some  masculine  critic  will  probably  exclaim, 
that  her  powers  are  exerted  on  very  trivial  subjects,  and 
the  world  is  not  much  better  for  all  those  things. 
Most  true  it  is,  good  sir,  but  who  is  to  blame  for  all 
that  ?  When  you  permit  her  to  step  out  of  this  insig 
nificant  sphere,  perhaps  she  will  shine  as  conspicuously 
in  another  and  higher  ! 

And  I  could  prove,  if  I  should  try,  that  it  is  better 
to  embroider  than  to  do  nothing ;  and  any  art  that  ena 
bles  a  woman  to  promote  the  tasteful  arrangement  and 
adorning  of  her  house,  with  the  time  and  skill  which  she 
can  spend  in  no  better  way  for  want  of  permission!  is 
useful.  Costly  and  luxuriant  furniture  alone  will  not 
give  an  air  of  cozy  comfort  to  a  house.  I  have  seen 
one  converted  into  a  little  paradise  with  half  the  expense 
that  was  bestowed  on  another,  which  was  after  all  but  a 
miniature  bedlam. 

So  I  hope  she  will  go  on  improving  her  powers  upon 
little  things,  so  as  to  be  prepared  for  greater  ones  when 
they  come  within  her  reach,  but  never  on  any  occasion 
do  I  advise  her  to  step  out  of  her  sphere  to  reach  them  ! 


CJjrista  is  Coming, 


CC CHRISTMAS  is  coming,"  but  it  must  be  evident 
\J  to  all  the  children  in  the  city,  that  Santa  Glaus 
does  not  come  down  the  chimney  in  these  days.  His 
footsteps  are  not  so  stealthy  as  they  were  in  days  of 
yore.  Heralds  are  proclaiming  him  at  every  corner, 
and  thousands  of  fingers  are  busy  in  assisting  him  to 
fill  his  satchel  with  the  gifts  he  intends  to  lavish.  A 
nimble  little  sprite  he  is,  and  generous  too,  seldom  leav 
ing  a  home  unvisited,  yet  I  marvel  at  the  profusion  in 
his  preparations,  and  think  he  must  have  provided  more 

than  he  can  dispose  of,  though  he  leave 

5  (97) 


98  THE    MYRTLE    WREATH. 

A  gift  in  every  stocking  leg, 

That  hangs  on  crane,  or  hook,  or  peg. 

It  has  become  the  fashion  to  "  give  gifts,"  and  as  in 
most  other  cases,  fashion  has  become  so  imperious,  that 
it  would  be  almost  like  an  act  of  proscription  to  refuse 
obedience  to  her  decrees,  and  as  in  most  other  cases 
too,  compulsion  destroys  half  the  pleasure.  There  are 
few  gratifications  more  delightful  than  that  of  exchang 
ing  tokens  of  affection ;  mementoes  and  souvenirs  from 
those  we  love,  with  their  thousand  sweet  associations 
clustering  around  them,  keep  alive  fond  memories  and 
brighten  dark  hours,  and  diffuse  a  sunshine  along  life's 
pathway,  lightening  the  heart  of  many  a  burden  and  hal 
lowing  it  for  many  a  sorrow. 

How  precious  is  that  lock  of  hair  slightly  tinged  with 
grey,  which  was  once  smoothly  plaited  on  a  mother's 
brow.  What  wealth  of  riches  or  of  diamonds  would  pur 
chase  the  little  golden  curls  that  once  fell  with  a  profu 
sion  of  ringlets  over  the  shoulders  of  a  little  sister, 
whom  we  saw  plucked  like  an  opening  bud,  her  rosy 
lips  sealed  by  death  ere  they  had  scarcely  begun  to  lisp 
the  sweet  accents  of  affection  ?  Who  has  not  some  relic 
of  other  days  or  early  loves  which  he  guards  more  care 
fully  than  gold,  and  cherishes  more  than  hid  treasures  ? 
What  a  world  of  memories,  which  have  long  been  still, 
come  rushing  up  as  we  look  upon  a  leaf  or  flower  which 
is  linked  by  some  delicate  tendril  to  the  heart,  and  has 


CHRISTMAS    IS    COMING. 

only  to  be  breathed  upon  to  awake  into  life  and  bloom 
with  richer  freshness  and  beauty  ! 

The  chords  of  the  soul  are  like  harp  strings  \vhich 
have  only  to  be  touched,  in  order  to  vibrate  with  a 
thousand  melodies.  And  so  sacred  has  ever  seemed  to 
me  a  gift,  a  token,  that  I  shrink  from  the  touch  of  one 
which  custom  only  has  bade  to  be  offered,  for  it  seems 
like  trifling  with  things  sacred,  and  trampling  upon  that 
which  is  holy  and  pure.  This  will  sound  very  senti 
mental  to  those  who  value  presents  as  they  do  purchases, 
according  to  the  amount  of  money  they  cost, — who  sit 
down  on  Christmas  and  New  Year's  eve  to  reckon  up 
the  articles,  and  comment  on  the  generosity  or  mean 
ness  of  those  whom  they  call  friends. 

In  the  old  countries,  Christmas  is  the 'time-honored 
festival,  and  hallowed  by  associations,  but  in  our  own, 
the  observance  of  it  seems  like  something  "  got  up,"  ra 
ther  than  to  have  "  come  down."  I  have  no  objections 
to  holydays,  and  would  increase  rather  than  diminish 
them.  I  have  no  objection  to  decorating  Churches  with 
evergreens,  or  preparing  or  eating  a  good  Christmas  diu- 
rier,  and  any  occasion  that  calls  home  the  scattered  ones, 
and  gathers  together  the  members  of  a  household,  and 
strengthens  family  ties,  must  have  more  good  in  it  than 
evil ;  so  I  rejoice  with  others  when  "  Christmas  is  corn 
ing,"  and  join  heartily  in  the  good  cheer  it  brings.  I 
like  to  be  commissioned  by  Santa  Glaus  to  fill  little 


100  THE    MY11TLE  WKEATH. 

stockings  with  nicknacks  and  to  hear  the  shout  and 
merry  laugh  from  young  glad  voices.  I  love  everything 
that  gives  to  life  healthful  .gladness,  and  beams  with 
chastened  brightness  on  the  pathway  of  our  earthly  pil 
grimage.  And  are  not  these  resources  every  where 
around  us  ?  Dark  indeed  must  be  the  soul  which  is 
not  expanded  when  gazing  upon  the  myriad  orbs  in 
their  cloudless  splendor,  upon  the  ocean  in  its  grandeur, 
the  mountain,  the  hill,  and  the  valley,  and  the  running 
stream.  Clouded  indeed  must  be  his  vision  who  dis 
cerns  only  shadows  in  the  sunbeams,  and  walks  abroad 
only  to  press  his  feet  upon  thorns,  who  puts  forth  his 
hand  to  pluck  flowers,  and  returns  it  full  of  nothing  but 
weeds  and  thistles. 


tolitarg  Biasings 


HOW  necessary  is  companionship  to  all  living  crea 
tures.  There  is  the  horse,  who  has  been  neighing 
and  whinnying  all  day  in  the  absence  of  his  companion, 
who  shares  with  him  all  his  labors ;  stands  by  him  in 
the  stable ;  eats  from  the  same  crib,  and  gambols  with 
him  in  the  field.  His  tones  are  mournful  and  piteous  to 
hear,  whilst  he  wanders  to  and  fro,  eagerly  catching 
every  sound  from  the  road,  and  gazing  with  an  eye,  in 
which  sparkles  the  animation  of  intelligence,  down  the 

avenue  which  will  give  him   the   first   glimpse   of  his 

(101) 


102  THE    MYRTLE  WEE ATH. 

friend.  How  can  joy  be  more  plainly  expressed  than 
theirs  when  they  meet — the  note  of  welcome  and  the 
joyous  bound,  the  look  of  love  and  the  fond  caress. 

There  are  some  pretty  kittens — how  loving  they  are 
in  their  play  ;  if  one  is  for  a  little  time  hid  or  absent,  how 
sorrowful  is  her  little  playmate.  How  slyly  she  creeps 
about,  peeping  in  into  every  nook  and  corner ;  and  how 
wildly  she  capers  when  she  has  discovered  her. 

The  good  and  patient  cow,  so  stupid,  as  she  is  called, 
is  still  capable  of  feeling  sadness,  and  mourns  when  left 
alone  to  such  a  degree  that  she  becomes  thin,  and 
refuses  to  give  us  the  rich  foaming  milk  in  abundance. 
Give  her  a  companion  to  roam  with  her  in  the  field,  and 
crop  the  grass  by  her  side  and  she  grows  cheerful  and' 
fat  and  generous  again. 

There  is  Mrs.  Goose  with  Mr.  Gander  and  five  chil 
dren  strutting  by  her  side.  How  plainly  she  says  "  They 
are  mine  !"  She  waddles  down  to  the  brook,  and  know 
ing  that  I  am  watching  her,  she  enters  the  water,  leav 
ing  her  younglings  to  follow  at  their  pleasure  ;  and 
words  could  not  speak  more  plainly  than  her  gait,  and 
the  proud  bearing  of  her  head  as  she  ascends  the  oppo 
site  bank,  without  looking  round  to  see  if  they  are 
safe,  "  They  are  very  precocious,  and  can  take  care  of 
themselves.  Don't  you  see  how  they  swim  ?"  Oh,  yes, 
Mrs.  Goose,  you  are  a  genuine  mother,  and  with  so 
honorable  a  position,  so  well  sustained,  you  should  not 


SOLITARY  MUSINGS  UPON  SOLITUDE.  103 

be  the  butt  of  ridicule  for  the  thoughtless  world.  I 
wonder  how  it  came  about  that  you  are  never  anything 
but  a  goose  after  all.  Your  days  of  usefulness  are  well 
nigh  ended — we  no  longer  need  those  glossy  quills  to 
celebrate  your  praises  nor  our  own  !  Nor  that  soft  down 
to  pillow  our  weary  heads — we  have  learned  better  than 
to  depend  on  you  for  any  comfort  or  luxury ;  so  perhaps 
you  will  be  elevated  to  a  higher  rank.  None  but  the 
starving  would  \vish  to  eat  you,  so  I  see  not  why  you 
should  not  have  a  title  of  nobility,  a  coat  of  arms,  and 
your  husband  a  ducal  crown  ! 

Here  is  this  good  dog,  the  faithful  Newfoundland. 
One  day  he  was  suspected  of  invading  the  sheep  fold 
with  hostile  intentions ;  he  saw  our  looks  of  censure,  and 
heard  us  talk  of  death  to  the  evil-doer,  whoever  he  might 
be,  and  he  left  us,  to  return  no  more  till  we  sought  him 
with  assurance  of  trust  and  belief  in  his  innocence.  As 
is  often  the 'case  in  this  world,  a  little  trouble  and 
humiliation  has  purchased  for  him  a  great  renown ;  and 
we  are  careful  to  remember  that  it  is  not  "  little  pitchers 
alone  that  have  ears."  But  how  came  he  to  understand 
our  conversation  ?  His  fear  and  trembling  were  not 
the  effect  of  conscious  guilt,  for  the  offence  was  not  his, 
as  we  afterwards  proved.  Was  it  dread  of  the  pains 
of  death  ?  How  could  he  know  aught  of  suffering  ?  Was 
it  regret  at  parting  with  life  merely,  and  being  separa 
ted  from  those  to  whom  he  was  attached,  and  from  all 


104  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

the  pleasures  of  animal  existence  ?  Or  did  he  shudder 
at  the  thought  of  unkindness  from  the  hand  that  had 
fed  him,  and  from  those  whom  he  had  so  faithfully 
guarded  from  danger  in  the  silent  watches  of  the  night  ? 

It  was  all  owing  to  instinct,  the  Philosopher  says. 
He  is  a  dog,  whatever  he  may  do  !  Still  I  believe  him 
capable  of  a  very  high  kind  of  happiness,  and  animated 
with  some  of  the  best  feelings  of  the  human  soul. 
Gratitude  is  one  of  the  noblest  of  our  emotions,  and 
surely  he  is  ever  expressing  this,  and  expressing,  too,  a 
love  which  is  concentrated  upon  a  few  and  more  firmly 
links  him  to  one. 

"What  joyous  delight  he  manifests  at  the  return  of 
the  absent !  What  fidelity  in  guarding  us  from  evil ; 
so  entirely  do  we  trust  him  that  we  never  fear  he  will 
slumber  at  his  post ;  and  that  he  will  betray  us  !  who. 
would  be  guilty  of  such  a  suspicion  ? 

When  I  ramble  in  the  fields,  how  plainly  does  he 
express  his  interest  in  all  that  I  do — looking  among  the 
flowers  for  those  I  pluck — bringing  me  a  leaf  or  twig  to 
win  a  gentle  pat  or  smile.  It  is  true  that  there  are 
many  undisputed  possessors  of  hearts,  who  do  not 
understand  so  well  how  to  make  the  hearts  of  others 
throb  with  gladness. 

How  funny  the  hens  look  hopping  up  stairs  !  But 
who  ever  thought  of  being  loved  by  a  hen.  We  love 
the  little  chickens,  they  are  so  cunning  ;  but  when  they 


SOLITARY  MUSINGS  UPON  SOLITUDE.  1  05 

are  grown  up,  they  are  not  pretty,  and  though  they  are 
domestic,  they  are  not  affectionate.  I  wonder  if  they 
love  one  another  ?  Yet  it  would  be  lonely  indeed  with 
out  them — a  desolation  it  would  create  about  the  farm 
house,  to  silence  the  cut  cut,  cada-e-r  cut,  and  cock-a 
doodle  doo. 

There  is  grandpa,  with  a  quart  measure  full  of  oats, 
and  they  no  sooner  see  him  than  from  tree,  and  scaffold, 
and  woodpile,  and  picket,  they  run,  waddle  and  scram 
ble  for  the  oats  he  scatters.  He  really  loves  them,  but 
I  do  not  think  they  would  love  him  were  it  not  for  the 
oats.  But  they  like  a  home,  and  a  nice  place  to  roost, 
and  they  "  lay  two  eggs  a  day,"  Sundays  and  all;  and 
after  having  spent  a  year  in  the  city,  where  they  make 
custards  of  corn  starch,  we  appreciate  hens  more  than 
ever. 

But  even  they  do  not  like  to  be  alone.  Who  would 
think  of  keeping  one  solitary  hen?  In  the  garden,  or 
orchard,  wherever  they  are  picking  worms  and  seeds, 
there  are  always  two  or  three.  They  like  companion 
ship,  but  they  are  not  generous.  How  each  runs,  when 
she  finds  a  good  bit,  to  avoid  sharing  it  with  her  com 
panions. 

I  wonder  how  it  came  to  be  so  fashionable  to  talk  of 
the  blessings  of  solitude,  when  it  is  so  plainly  written, 
not  only  in  His  book,  by  His  own  hand,  but  in  all  His 

works,  "  It  is  not  good  to  be  alone." 
5* 


gin 


I  HAVE  watched  them,  I  have  cherished 
Through  the  early  budding  spring, 

'Till  the  warmer  breath  of  summer 
Brought  their  perfect  blossoming. 

The  modest  peeping  violet, 

The  snowy  daffodil ; 
The  brightly  glowing  buttercup 

That  grows  beside  the  hill. 


MY  GARDEN  FLOWERS.  107 

The  variegated  roses, 

The  lilies  in  their  pride  ; 
The  gently  loving  creeper 

Which  climbeth  at  their  side. 

And  the  gay  and  queenly  dahlia, 

In  royal  purple  drest, 
Adorned  with  badge  imperial, 

And  golden-mounted  crest. 

I  have  talked  to  them  in  whispers— 

I  have  told  them  every  thought, 
'Till  they  seem  with  life  and  motion, 

With  love  and  friendship  fraught. 

So  fondly  I  have  cherished  them, 

I  weep  to  see  them  fade, 
And  sigh  that  aught  should  wither 

In  such  loveliness  arrayed. 

But  the  winter  days  are  coming ; 

It  is  rumored  on  the  blast — 
The  yellow  leaves  are  scattered 

As  it  rudely  rushes  past. 


108  THE   MYRTLE   WREATH. 

The  hoary  frost  of  Autumn 
Has  blighted  every  stem, 

And  on  every  twig  and  leaflet 
Is  a  glittering  icy  gem. 

So  the  hopes  that  dawn  the  brightest 
Are  the  first  to  flee  away — 

So  the  hearts  that  beat  the  lightest 
Are  the  soonest  to  decay. 

And  I  have  learned  that  beauty, 
Wherever  it  may  bloom, 

Is  but  a  fragile  blossom 
That  is  ripening  for  the  tomb. 


— f  ^  Jfato  raft  %  to. 


•  •  1  ND  here  I  must  stay  cooped  up  from  morning 
JLJL.  till  night,  without  a  breath  of  fresh  air,  or  any 
healthy  exercise  watching  over  this  child.  How  I  hate 
it,  I  was  not  born  for  such  drudgery.  I  was  made  for 
something  better  !" 

These  were  the  words  of  a  mother  as  she  sat  by  the 
cradle  of  a  moaning  infant.  How  many  mothers  will 
believe  me — will  believe  it  possible,  that  days  and  nights 
of  weariness  and  watching,  of  self  denial  and  sacrifice 

could  force  such  words  from  a  mother's  lips  ?    Yes,  and 

(109) 


110  THE    MYRTLE    WREATH. 

the  little  creature  over  whom  every  day  and  hour  she  fret 
ted,  and  wished  in  its  grave,  was  her  daughter  and  her 
only;  a  fair  and  beautiful  child,  wasted  with  sickness, 
and  pining  for  the  care  a  fond  mother  only  can  bestow. 
It  could  not  tell  its  pain,  but  all  the  day  it  uttered  a 
moaning  sound,  which  was  pitiful  to  hear,  and  which 
must  have  struck  painfully  on  any  human  heart. 

See  its  tiny  fingers  so  long  and  thin — the  arms,  the 
bones  of  which  have  never  hardened,  because  its  short 
life  has  been  all  suffering ;  the  temples  are  hollow,  and 
the  cheeks  have  lost  their  plumpness ;  it  tries  to  turn  its 
little  body  and  writhes  with  pain,  and  the  moan  is  deeper. 
What  woman  with  a  woman's  heart  does  not  invol 
untarily  stretch  forth  her  arms  to  clasp  the  little  one  and 
fold  it  to  her  bosom,  and  yet  the  MOTHER  SITS  BY  AND 
MOCKS  ITS  WAILING  !  My  blood  curdles  in  my  veins,  as 
I  listen,  and  my  pen  is  palsied  at  the  thought ! 

What  was  she  ?  A  coarse  brutal  woman  such  as  wo 
find  in  hovels  and  heathen  lands  ?  No,  less  than  four 
years  ago  she  was  a  belle,  and  is  still  a  beauty  !  Her 
dress  is  brocade  and  her  laces  the  purest  mechlin ;  she 
is  graceful  as  a  fairy, — brilliant  and  fascinating,  and 
when  in  her  father's  house,  surrounded  by  everything  to 
minister  to  her  taste  and  gratify  her  wants,  she  was 
called  amiable  and  lovely !  She  was  as  many  are — 
<l  very  good  till  she  was  tried." 

And  what  is  it  that  she  calls  "  doing  something  better." 


THE  TWO  MOTHERS.  Ill 

than  nursing  her  infant  and  hushing  it  to  slumber? 
What  can  exceed  in  her  mind  the  importance  of  a 
mother's  holy  duties  ?  What  can  be  to  her  sweeter 
than  to  pour  out  her  love  upon  the  child  of  her  bosom, 
to  be  rewarded  with  its  returning  smile  and  merry 
prattle  ?  It  is  nothing  more  than  the  morning  prome 
nade  and  the  evening  soiree.  Her  husband  is  sitting  by, 
but  he  never  shared  any  portion  of  her  affection ;  when 
she  married  it  was  not  to  find  a  home  for  her  heart ; 
the  desire  for  admiration  is  not  a  less  craving  appetite 
than  when  she  danced  and  smiled  with  the  hope  of 
attracting  lovers.  Excitement  is  the  only  food  which 
satisfies,  and  the  restraints  of  conjugal  and  maternal 
duties  are  insupportable  to  her. 

"  She   hates   them ;    she  wa&   made   for   something 
better  1" 


"  Will  he  not  look  cunning  in  his  little  new  frock,  and 
white  apron — see  I  have  trimmed  the  sleeves  with  vel 
vet — and  these  buttons  up  and  down  the  waist — and  he 
has  a  little  hat  with  a  bright  ribbon,  don't  you  think  he 
will  look  nice  ?" 

I  looked  up  in  the  face  of  the  fond  mother,  as  she 
turned  the  articles  round  and  round  to  exhibit  them,  her 
countenance  glowing  with  that  beautiful  pride  which  a 
happy  mother  always  feels,  and  gazed  in  wonder,  for 


112  THE   MYRTLE  WREATH. 

though  he  was  a  noble  boy,  he  was  one  for  whose  birth 
and  parentage  she  must  blush  as  long  as  she  lived ! 

"  You  had  rather  get  something  pretty  for  him  than 
for  yourself  I  suppose,"  said  I. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  do  not  care  for  myself  at  all,  I  do  not  care 
a  bit  whether  I  have  anything  or  not,  if  I  can  only  get 
something  nice  for  Willie.  And  will  he  not  look 
pretty,"  she  began  again,  "  you  can't  think  how  he  has 
grown  lately  :  "he  begins  to  say  mamma,  and  he  plays 
so  pretty  with  his  horse  and  blocks.  Oh,  and  he  is  so 
loving,  so  glad  to  see  me  when  I  go  to  see  him." 

She  had  been  entreated  to  give  him  up,  that  he  might 
never  know  his  unfortunate  birth,  and  that  her  own 
humiliation  might  be  forgotten. 

"  You  do  not  intend  to  part  with  him,"  I  said.  "  No, 
oh,  no,  how  can  I  part  with  him  ?  He  clings  to  me  and 
loves  me  so." 

My  question  recalled  the  bitterness  of  his  lot,  and  her 
own,  if  they  remained  together,  and  the  crimson  flush 
suffused  her  face,  and  the  long  dark  eyelash  fell  upon 
her  cheek,  while  the  scalding  tears  stole  down,  and 
dropped  upon  the  frock  and  pinafore  which  she  had  fin 
ished  with  so  much  care. 

I  repented  the  remark,  which  added  a  single  pang  to 
her  already  broken  heart,  for  hers  had  been  the  greatest 
wrong  I  had  ever  known  a  deceived  and  outraged 
woman  called  upon  to  endure.  I  tried  to  soothe  her  by 


THE  TWO  MOTHERS.  1 J  3 

reverting  to  the  pretty  things,  and  her  pretty  baby,  and 
her  face  brightened  again,  though  it  was  never  without 
the  dark  shadow,  which  betrayed  the  secret  sorrow. 

She  was  a  servant — and  all  the  wages  of  a  month, 
except  one  dollar,  she  paid  for  the  board  of  her  child. 
This— just  a  sixth  part  of  what  she  received — was  all 
she  had  to  clothe  herself  and  him,  and  on  him,  of  course 
it  was  mostly  spent.  In  two  months  she  had  saved 
enough  to  buy  the  bright  red  frock  and  hat  and  shoes, 
with  which  she  had  proudly  decked  him,  and  never  had 
I  seen  her  look  so  pleased  and  happy,  as  when  she 
brought  him  in  that  I  might  see  "  what  a  handsome  boy 
he  was.' 

"  I  cut  the  frock  all  myself,"  she  began,  "  does  it  not 
fit  nice ;  and  I  gave  two  shillings  for  the  shoes,  and 
eighteen  pence  a  yard  for  the  frock — I  could  not  get 
anything  that  was  fit  for  him  at  all,  for  less — the  ribbon 
on  his  hat  was  a  shilling  a  yard,  but  doesn't  he  look 
pretty  ?  and  see  I  got  him  a  rattle  too,  he  likes  it."  Then 
she  smothered  him  with  kisses  and  pressed  him  closer 
and  closer  to  her  bosom. 

All  the  relaxation  from  toil  or  amusement  which  she 
asked  was  to  be  permitted  to  go  once  a  day  to  spend  a 
half  hour  with  Jamy.  How  faithfully  she  worked; 
how  like  a  very  martyr  she  bore  confinement,  depriva 
tion  and  toil,  that  Jamy  might  not  know  want — and 
that  u  he  might  look  like  other  children,"  by  which  she 


114  THE    MYRTLE    WREATH 

meant  the  children  of  the  rich.  There  was  no  self- 
denial  that  she  did  not  consider  sweet,  if  it  purchased 
him  a  moment's  gratification ;  and  the  humiliation  was 
outweighed  by  the  holy  love — "  the  deep,  strong,  death 
less  love,"  with  which  her  bosom  was  filled,  which  she 
could  pour  out  upon  her  child — upon  Jamy  her  darling 
boy. 

She  who  mocked  her  dying  infant's  wail,  would  have 
thought  her  only  fit  to  be  trampled  in  the  street — "  a 
mother  and  not  a  wife  !  what  contempt  was  sufficient 
for  her — no  matter  what  might  be  the  wrong. 

Which  was  the  true  woman — which  mother  the  false 
and  which  the  true  1 


Wimm. 


IT  may  seem  superfluous  to  devote  a  line,  or  moment 
of  time,  to  the  vindication  of  literary  women,  when 
they  are  so  successfully  vindicating  themselves — when 
they  are  so  greatly  honored  and  universally  respected. 
But  there  are  a  great  many  women  who  are  not  guilty 
of  dabbling  in  literature  in  any  way,  who  are  vastly 
concerned  for  the  reputation  of  their  sisters  of  the  press, 
and  more  concerned  for  the  well-being  of  their  husbands 
and  families.  There  is  scarcely  a  day  that  we  do  not 

hear  some  unjust  remark,  or  uncharitable  allusion  to 

(115) 


116  THE   MYRTLE  WREATH. 

one  who  has  lately  become  so  world  renowned  in  the 
empire  of  letters.  "  She  neglects  her  family."  Her 
children  receive  from  her  no  attention.1'  "  Her  house 
hold  affairs  are  left  entirely  to  others."  "  She  is  una- 
miable  as  wife,  and  mother,  and  friend,"  &c.,  &c.  Every 
one  of  which  charges  I  know  to  be  false.  I  have 
been  often  in  her  house,  and  never  saw  it  otherwise  than 
orderly.  I  have  seen  and  talked  with  her  children,  and 
often  thought  their  intellectual  and  moral  training 
was  of  the  highest  order,  and  that  it  was  seldom 
parents  so  prayerfully  and  attentively  studied,  and  so 
thoroughly  understood  the  character  of  their  children. 

No  woman  who  is  a  good  housewife,  in  the  highest 
sense  of  the  term,  need  spend  all  her  time  in  household 
duties.  The  more  systematic  she  is,  and  thoroughly 
acquainted  with  her  profession,  the  more  time  she  may 
redeem  for  other  pursuits.  No  woman  should  be  com 
pelled  to  toil  from  early  morning  till  late  at  night  in  the 
nursery,  kitchen,  or  at  the  needle,  though  the  bent  forms 
sallow  faces,  and  dejected  spirits,  we  meet  at  every  step, 
show  how  many  do. 

There  is  no  profession  which  so  absolutely  requires  a 
well-balanced  mind  and  high  degree  of  cultivation  in 
order  to  excel  as  housewifery,  and  there  are  very  few 
women  even  in  our  land  who  have  attained  to  perfec 
tion.  That  the  poor  are  so  miserably  poor  and  remain 
BO,  is,  in  a  great  proportion  of  cases,  owing  to  the  igno- 


LITERARY    WOMEN.  117 

ranee  and  inefficiency  of  women.  That  enterprising 
business  men  so  often  fail,  is  owing  to  the  extravagance 
of  their  wives  and  daughters,  and  extravagance  is  often 
owing  entirely  to  ignorance.  A  few  literary  women 
have  been  slatterns  who  would  have  just  as  surely  been 
slatterns  had  they  never  seen  a  book  or  pen,  and  infinitely 
more  useless  and  disagreeable  ! 

But  the  slatterns  who  could  not  read  or  hold  a  pen, 
have  not  been  counted,  though  it  is  conceded  by  most 
matrons  that  our  emigrant  servants  are  not  the  most 
learned,  tidy,  or  the  most  expert !  But  suppose  that 
literary  and  cultivated  women  must  necessarilv  devote 
the  time  to  books  which  should  be  devoted  to  the  "  weigh 
tier  matters,"  which  must  certainly  be  deemed  the  most 
imperative  and  important,  if  they  have  assumed  the 
responsibilities  of  wives,  mothers,  nurses}  &c.  Are  the 
husbands,  arid  children,  and  puddings,  which  are  neg 
lected  for  books,  in  any  worse  condition  than  those  neg 
lected  for  theatres,  balls,  operas,  or  tattling,  slander  and 
gossip  ?  The  proportion  of  learned  ladies,  is  as  yet  very 
small  in  comparison  to  the  whole,  and  there  is  a  goodly 
prospect  that  it  will  be  for  a  long  time  to  come,  while 
the  fashionable  women  are  a  host,  and  their  employ 
ments  are  no  different  now  from  what  they  were  when 
Addison  described  them. 

Their  toilet  is  their  great  scene  of  business,  and  the 
right  adjusting  of  their  hair,  the  principal  employment 


118  THE    MYRTLE  WREATH. 

of  their  lives  ;  the  sorting  of  a  suit  of  ribbons  is  reckoned 
a  very  good  morning's  -work,  and  if  they  make  an  excur 
sion  to  a  mercer's  or  a  toy-shop,  so  great  a  fatigue  makes 
them  unfit  for  anything  else  all  the  day  after.  Their 
more  serious  occupations  are  sewing  and  embroidery; 
and  their  greatest  drudgery  the  preparation  of  jellies 
and  sweet-meats.  "  One  infallible  resource  in  that  day, 
as  in  this,  was  shopping."  And  then,  as  now,  their 
overflowing  affections  were  lavished  on  monkeys,  lap- 
dogs  and  parrots. 

There  is  a  certain  "  knack  of  doing  things,"  which 
is  as  much  a  gift  as  speaking  of  tongues,  or  writ 
ing  poetry,  and  we  have  seen  young  ladies  try  most  per- 
severingly  for  years  and  never  learn  to  bake,  or  wield  a 
dishcloth,  or  broom,  with  grace  or  dexterity.  Do  not 
laugh  at  the  idea  of  grace  in  such  matters,  for  sewing, 
knitting,  and  sweeping,  if  done  properly,  are  done  grace 
fully,  and  are  done  well  by  some  in  half  the  time  that 
others  are  doing  them  ill. 


*  f  0k  rob  iniituk 


T  IFE  is  real,  life  is  earnest."     Oh  for  something 

I  1  to  be  in  earnest  about,  is  the  unspoken  thought 

of  every  woman's  heart.     "  Oh  for  something  fully  to 

engage  my  mind,  my  energies.     I  feel  within  me  the 

consciousnes  of  power,  but  where  shall  I  exert  it  ?" 

Her  only  "  proper  sphere,"  is  in  performing  the  gen 
tle  offices  of  affection.  To  go  out  of  it  is  to  forfeit  her 
title  to  respect  and  destroy  her  influence.  To  be 
mother,  daughter,  wife  and  sister,  should  limit  her 

ambition  and  when  she  can  be  neither  of  these  what 

(119) 


120  THE   MYRTLE  WREATH. 

shall  she  do  ?  Observation  teaches  her  that  according 
to  the  laws  of  nature,  one  tie  will  probably  be  broken  in 
early  life,  and  though  a  little  while  she  may  be  a  minister 
ing  angel  around  a  parent's  couch,  death  will  deprive 
her  of  this  sweet  office,  and  leave  her  alone  in  a  deso 
late  home.  She  has  brothers,  but  they  have  gone  forth 
to  seek  their  fortunes  in  the  world.  Duty  does  not  bid 
them  sacrifice  the  hope  of  honor  or  the  opportunities  of 
wealth,  to  smooth  a  parent's  dying  couch  or  cheer  a 
sister's  lonely  path.  They  form  new  ties  which  almost 
surely  sever  those  which  bind  them  to  the  hearts  which 
shared  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  their  childhood.  The 
sister,  however  deep,  and  pure,  and  constant  may  have 
been  her  love,  is  often,  too  often  forgotten  in  the  midst 
of  the  happy  circle  they  gather  around  them  in  a  new 
home. 

How  impressively  these  thoughts  returned  to  me  as  I 
remembered  the  humble  cottage  where  a  mother  and 
daughter  dwelt — the  widow  and  the  orphan. 

The  son  and  brother  was  their  idol ;  for  him  they 
toiled  and  sacrificed  to  procure  the  means  of  education, 
to  clothe  him  as  others  were  clad,  and  looked  forward 
with  confidence  to  the  day  when  success  should  crown 
his  labors  and  they  should  be  rewarded  by  an  increase 
of  affection  and  a  home  in  his  household. 

He  received  the  first  honors  of  school  and  college, 
and  entered  upon  the  duties  of  a  lucrative  profession. 


A  BROTHER'S  LOVE  AND  GRATITUDE.    121 

He  married  an'  accomplished  woman  of  fashion,  who 
liked  not  to  associate  with  the  inmates  of  his  lowly  home, 
and  succeeded  in  alienating  his  affections  froni  those  who 
had  never  had  a  thought  in  life  but  for  him,  and  in  a  lit 
tle  time  as  far  as  any  manifestation  of  interest  was  visi 
ble,  they  were  entirely  forgotten.  He  was  blessed  with 
prosperity,  and  children  grew  up  around  him.  He  was 
surrounded  by  everything  rich  and  costly  in  furniture 
and  apparel,  and  honors  clustered  upon  his  head,  but, 
his  heart  was  hardened. 

Still,  in  that  little  cottage  might  be  seen  every  morn 
ing  and  evening,  the  aged  mother  on  her  bended 
knees,  pouring  out  her  prayer  to  God,  for  her  prodigal 
son.  All  day  by  the  window,  over  which  climbed  the 
rose  and  the  honeysuckle  her  hands  had  trained,  might 
be  seen  the  sister  toiling  at  her  needle,  to  earn  the  pit 
tance  which  supplied  them  with  their  daily  bread.  She 
was  beautiful  beyond  the  ordinary  beauty  of  woman, 
and  was  often  tempted  to  give  her  hand  without  her 
heart,  when  it  promised  her  a  home  and  competence,  but 
she  trembled  as  she  thought  of  the  change  which  had 
been  wrought  in  the  heart  which  for  a  quarter  of  a  cen 
tury  had  beat  for  her  alone  ;  on  her  had  been  lavished 
its  affection,  and  with  her  he  had  promised  to  share  the 
weal  and  woe  of  life,  and  now  he  seemed  turned  to 

stone. 

A  poetic  feature  in  the  smiling  landscape  was  that 


122  THE  MYJITLE  WKEATII. 

lowly  cottage,  with  its  clambering  roses,  and  trellised 
vines  and  little  garden,  where  blossomed  in  profusion  all 
the  flowers  of  early  spring,  arid  luxuriant  summer  and 
sober  autumn.  But  still  more  beautiful  was  the  picture 
within,  where  the  tottering  steps  of  age  were  supported 
by  the  fair  form  which  ministered  to  every  want  with 
the  quick  perception  and  prompt  energy  of  affection. 
He  who  should  have  comforted  them,  left  them  to  the 
chilling  blight  of  neglect,  but  want  never  visited  their 
cheerful  abode.  Friendship  took  them  under  her  brood 
ing  wing,  and  watched  over  them  with  her  fostering 
care. 

But  soon  death  came  and  removed  the  aged  pilgrim 
to  her  rest  beyond  the  grave ;  and  gladly,  even  now, 
would  the  sister  have  become  an  inmate  of  her  brother's 
home.  She  would  have  loved  his  children  and  intro 
duced  an  air  of  comfort  where  fashion  (had  so  long 
usurped  dominion,  but  her  presence  would  have  been  a 
rebuke  to  her  heartless  votaries,  which  they  cared  not 
to  meet,  so  she  was  left  to  her  desolation  and  her  hum 
ble  toil.  Their  cast  off  and  useless  drapery  would  have 
clothed  her,  but  they  preferred  to  see  it  accumulate  and 
decay.  The  cottage  was  sold  and  soon  shorn  of  its 
beauty",  her  heart  had  no  longer  there  a  resting  place, 
and  like  the  flowers  she  had  cherished,  it  withered  as 
her  hopes  were  crushed. 


A  BROTHERS   LOVE  AND  GRATITUDE.  123 

"  Her  lot  is  on  yon  silent  grave  to  weep, 

And  patient  smiles  to  wear  through  suffering's  hour, 

And  sumlcss  riches  from  affection's  deep, 

To  pour  on  broken  reeds  a  wasted  shower, 

And  to  make  idols  and  to  find  them  clay, 

And  to  bewail  that  worship-^-therefore  pray. 

Her  lot  is  on  you,  to  be  found  untired, 

"Watching  the  stars  out  by  the  bed  of  pain, 

"With  a  pale  cheek  and  yet  a  brow  inspired, 

And  a  true  heart  of  hope,  though  hope  be  vain, 

Meeekly  to  bear  with  wrong  and  cheer  decay, 

And  oh !  to  love  through  all  things — therefore  pray." 

"  To  love  through  all  things  1"  and  what  shall  those 
love,  with  the  strength  of  wroman's  affection,  who  have 
no  kindred  and  no  home.  They  have  ceased  to  be 
daughters — death  has  severed  the  tie  which  bound  them 
to  the  authors  of  their  existence.  They  are  not  mothers 
— Providence  has.  denied  them  this  holy  relationship. 
They  are  not  wives — but  is  the  heart  to  be  despised 
which  is  too  pure  to  be  sacrificed  on  the  altar  of  ambition 
— a  shrine  too  sacred  to  admit  the  motives  of  the  fash 
ionable  and  the  worldling  ?  There  is  only  one  anchor  for 
her  soul — the  Christian's  faith.  The  future  is  the  beacon 
which  guides  her  on,  the  star  of  hope,  the  only  o^ne  which 
illumines  her  gloomy  sky ;  and  on  this  bright  star  are 
fixed  the  eyes  of  thousands  of  her  sister  spirits  to 
whom  this  life  may  never  be  an  "  earnest"  one  ;  for  the 


124  THE   MYRTLE   WKEATH. 

shrinking  fear  they  have  of  incurring  censure,  is  barrier 
enough  to  keep  them  within  the  precincts  so  often  pre 
scribed,  and  there  they  are  deprived  of  objects  of  inter 
est  requiring  a  single  exertion.  They  are  peculiarly  fit 
ted  for  love  and  its  delightful  offices,  but  to  them  has  not 
been  given  the  choice  of  any  object  on  which  to  lavish 
their  devotion ;  and  when  bowed  writh  sorrow  or  oppres 
sed  with  loneliness,  the  world  seems  to  think  their  only 
womanly  employment  to  be  endurance  and  Christian 
resignation  ! 


IJHAT  little   boy,  did  you  ever  see  one  so  lovely  ? 
"  Oh  yes,"  exclaim  a  hundred  mothers,  "  can  he  be 
more  beautiful  than   mine — does  his  hair  curl   more 
sweetly — is  his  form  more  round,  or  his  cheek  more 
rosy  ?" 

Oh,  I  did  not  say  this  little  boy  was  beautiful ; 
his  hair  does  not  curl  at  all,  but  lies  in  silken  tresses  on 
his  brow  ;  the  blue  veins  twine  round  like  silver  threads 
upon  the  temple — the  eye  is  closed,  and  the  long  dark 

lash  rests  heavily  on  the  delicate  cheek ;  the  little  hand 

(125) 


126        »  THE    MYRTLE    WREATH. 

is  nestling  beneath  the  chin,  and  the  breath  betrays  a 
restless  slumber,  which  makes  me  tremble,  for  it  seems 
to  me  an  angel  is  hovering  over  him  ready  to  bear  him 
to  the  spirit  land. 

His  is  a  beauty  of  the  soul — I  am  sitting  by  his  crib, 
and  see  the  eyes  compress  to  stifle  a  groan  which  one 
less  brave  would  freely  utter  ;  I  see  those  little  muscles 
contact  with  pain,  and  yet  no  sound  escapes,  except 
those  words,  so  natural  and  so  sweet  from  childish  lips, 
"  mamma,  mamma." 

The  dark  eye  so  rich  and  full,  is  lighted  with  more 
than  earthly  brightness,  and  now  lovingly  he  clasps  his 
little  arms  around  my  neck,  as  if  it  were  only  a  little 
while,  ere  they  would  take  the  form  of  \vings  and  soar 
away  where  angel  children  dwell. 

Ah,  they  are  not  alone  the  brave  who  die  upon  the 
battle  field — nor  they  alone  the  victors,  who  wear  the 
laurel  crown. 

"  A  little  child  shall  teach  them," — meekly  to  bear 
with  suffering  or  with  wrong,  and  ask  no  eye  to  pity, 
and  no  voice  to  soothe  ;  to  struggle  when  there  are  none 
to  herald  praises  is  the  truest  martyr  glory.  And  every 
day  I  see  a  tiny  fragile  form  bear  up — not  with  manly 
strength,  but  with  a  ransomed  spirit's  bravery.  The 
pain  with  which  some  giant  frames  would  sink,  he 
suffers  not  to  prostrate  him.  It  wastes  that  little  form, 
we  see  it  day  by  day,  but  still  those  feet  go  patting 


A  LITTLE  CHILD  SHALL  TEACH  THEM.  127 

round — the  voice  is  soft  and  low,  but  richer  in  its  tone 
and  sweeter  than  music  in  our  ears. 

The  cheek  has  lost  its  roundness,  and  the  dimpled  face 
its  cherub  beauty — he  smiles,  but  it  is  not  childhood's 
sunny  smile — it  seems  to  me  a  beam  from  heaven. 

And  soon  he  will  be  there — a  bud,  oh  no,  a  full  blown 
flower.  God  gave  him,  arid  in  three  short  summers  has 
perfected  him  to  a  spiritual  beauty  which  is  not  oft  at 
tained  in  three  score  years  and  ten.  He  is  worthy  now 
to  u  sing  the  song  of  Moses  and  the  Lamb,"  and  soon 
will  join  the  choir  around  the  great  white  throne,  and 
there  will  be  to  welcome  us,  the  BEAUTEOUS  ANGEL  BOY. 


Start. 


'Tis  like  the  sweet  ^Eolian 
With  which  the  zephyrs  play ; 

With  every  new  emotion, 
How  lightly  will  it  sway ! 

Of  its  rich  and  gushing  music, 

The  soul  will  never  tire  ; 
While  Joy  with  rosy  fingers, 

Sweeps  o'er  its  trembling  lyre. 
(128) 


THE  HEART.  129 

But,  oh  !  the  thrilling  rapture, 

"When  love  with  dewy  wings, 
Awakes  the  sleeping  goddess, 

Who  tunes  the  golden  strings. 


I  hear  it  vibrate  quickly, 

Like  the  rustling  autumn  leaf  7 

Then  slowly  on  the  night-wind 
Comes  the  solemn  note  of  Grief. 


I  bend  my  ear  to  listen, 

And  catch  a  sweeter  strain ; 

Yes,  Hope,  with  magic  whisper, 
The  chords  hath  touched  again. 

But  hark !  a  mournful  melody 

Is  floating  on  the  breeze ; 
'Tis  like  the  breath  of  evenino- 

O 

Through  the  solemn  cypress  trees. 

I  look ;  the  lyre  is  trembling, 
And  doubt  is  brooding  there ; 

The  plaintive  song  grows  sadder, 
'Tis  the  wailing  of  Despair  ! 


130  THE    MYIITLE  WKEATH. 

In  the  stilly  hour  of  midnight, 
A  voice  has  lingered  near — 

Twns  like  the  hiss  of  viper 
To.  the  maiden's  trusting  ear. 


A  strange  and  startling  wild  note 
is  echoed  through  the  air — 

The  shapeless  form  of  Terror 
Is  ruahing  from  her  lair. 


o 


I  hear  a  wail  of  madness — 

The  harp  is  tempest  riven, 
And  never  more  will  answer 
To  the  gentle  sighs  of  even. 

'Tis  broken,  yet  I  linger, 
Some  favorite  strain  to  hear ; 

And  turn  to  hide  the  anguish — 
To  wipe  the  burning  tear. 

But  the  hideous  form  of  Triumph 
Is  there  with  leaden  wings, 

Exulting  in  the  music 

Of  the  torn  and  shattered  str 


WHO  has  not  "  felt  as  if  he  should  go  into  fits  "— 
turned  red  and  white,  hot  and  cold — looked  this 
way  and  that  way  and  every  other  way,  while  under 
the  necessity  of  enduring  an  introduction^  with  no  possi 
bility  of  shortening  it,  hastening  it,  or  preventing  it. 

It  is  quite  contrary  to  etiquette  to  bow  or  speak,  and 
especially  to  talk,  to  a  person  with  whom  you  have  not 
been  "  made  acquainted." — But  "  circumstances  alter 
cases,"  the  grammar  used  to  say,  and  if  by  any  unfortu 
nate  train  of  events,  you  have  been  compelled  to  be 
sociable  with  a  stranger  for  an  hour  or  two,  long  enough 

(131) 


132  THE   MYRTLE  WREATH. 

to  feel  at  ease,  what  will  more  fully  destroy  your  con 
ceit,  than  the  entrance  of  one  who  is  "  wed  to  etiquette" 
and  cannot  forego  the  pleasure  of  "  making  you 
acquainted."  You  are  immediately  thrown  back  to  the 
awkwardness  of  another  beginning,  and  must  invent  a 
new  remark  on  the  weather,  which  only  multiplies  your 
blushes,  and  increases  your  confusion  till  you  feel  that 
an  introduction  has  made  you 'worse  than  strangers. 

It  is  sufficient  for  any  ordinary  self  command  to  stand 
vis  a  vis  with  one  whom  you  have  never  met  before; 
while  a  third  person  goes  through  the  formula  of  "  Mr. 
Somebody,  allow  me  to  give  myself  the  pleasure  or  do 
myself  the  honor  to  make  you  acquainted  with  Mr. 
Somebody  else,"  at  the  end  of  which  you  are  expected 
to  and  do  respond,  "  I  am  happy  to  see  you  well,  sir," 
though  you  are  in  your  heart  wishing  him  and  all  the 
world  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  I  would  like  to  see  the 
man  or  woman  who  could  pass  through  such  an  ordeal 
with  grace  or  dignity. 

But  the  climax  of  introduction,  I  witnessed  when  a 
young  lady  wished  to  make  knoivn  to  her  family,  a  gen 
tleman  with  whom  she  had  become  acquainted  in  the 
city,  and  in  whom  she  was  particularly  interested,  and 
of  whom  they  had  only  heard.  He  entered  the  spacious 
drawing  room,  and  she  arose  and  placed  herself  at  his 
side,  saying,  "  Pa,  this  is  Mr.  Bush,  Mr.  Bush  this  is  Pa  } 
Ma  this  is  Mr.  Bush,  Mr.  Bush,  this  is  Ma.  Brother 


INTRODUCTIONS.  1 33 

Jonathan,  this  is  Mr. 'Bush,  Mr.  Bush  this  is  Brother 
Jonathan,"  &c.,  &c.,  till  every  person  in  the  room  was 
distinctly  informed  that  this  "  was  Mr.  Bush."  I  cer 
tainly  thought  an  earthquake  would  be  a  most  delight 
ful  interruption  to  such  a  scene. 

There  are  an  abundance  of  books  and  of  teachers 
who  by  the  living  voice  "  instruct  boys  and  girls  how  to 
behave,"  as  well  as  how  to  do  various  other  things,  and 
I  cannot  tell  whether  the  fault  is  in  the  teachers  or  in 
the  memories  of  the  pupils,  that  the  behaving  is  so 
awkwardly  done. 

I  once  sat  spectator  while  a  gentleman  introduced 
his  friend  to  a  circle  of  eight  or  ten  persons,  with  all  of 
whom  he  shook  hands,  reiterating  each  time,  "  very  glad 
to  see  you,  are  you  pretty  hearty  to-day  ?  happy  to  see 
you,  are  you  pretty  hearty  to-day  ?"  till  every  one  in  the 
room  was  in  convulsions. 

The  mention  of  the  names  of  those  who  are  unac 
quainted,  as  quickly  as  is  compatible  with  distinctness, 
is  all  that  is  necessary  on  ordinary  occasions,  and  a 
slight  repetition  by  those  who  are  introduced,  saves  all 
the  trouble  of  wishing  people  well  or  hearty ;  and  I  am 
sure  would  prevent  many  an  ague  fit. 


Jirst  !n$uss50ns  wpt 


I  AM  still  on  the  waters,  for  our  boat  is  old  and  hea 
vy  laden,  and  we  are  moving  slowly  ;  but  though  it 
is  in  some  respects  a  monotonous  life,  I  am  not  weary 
of  it.  The  days  have  been  bright  and  cloudless,  and 
BO  warm  that  we  could  sit  on  deck  any  length  of  time 
with  perfect  comfort,  and  I  have  often  shared  the  wheel- 
house  with  the  old  pilot  long  into  the  night,  for  the  pri 
vilege  of  looking  abroad  upon  this  fair  land,  and  those 
dark  waters  when  the  moon  shed  upon  them  her  silvery 
light.  How  often  I  look  up  to  her,  always  so  calm,  and 

(134) 


FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  UPON  THE  MISSISSIPPI.       135 

pure,  and  beautiful,  and  bright,  and  think  what  else  in  all 
the  wide  creation  is  so  loved  and  welcomed  as  her  smile. 
Of  all  things  else  we  are  prone  to  weary.  The  sun  seems 
necessary  to  our  existence — he  is  brilliant  and  dazzling, 
and  glorious,  as  he  rolls  on  his  fiery  way — we  admire 
him  and  praise  him,  but  who  ever  thought  of  loving 
aught  so  splendid.  We  love  the  flowers,  but  they  only 
bloom  for  a  little  season,  then  fade  and  die.  But  the 
moon,  the  gentle  moon,  who  ever  gazed  on  her  quiet 
loveliness,  and  wearied  and  wished  for  her  to  wane  ? 

And  now,  when  I  am  far  away  as  I  think  she  is  still 
looking  upon  the  mountains  and  the  little  streams,  that 
wind  like  silver  threads  through  the  valleys,  in  that 
cherished  land,  it  is  with  more  than  fondness  that 
I  gaze. 

I  love  to  send  my  fancy  roaming 
Far  away  o'er  hill  and  dell, 

And  think  that  thou  art  fondly  smiling 
On  the  friends  I  love  so  well. 

To  think  thy  beauteous  robe  is  mantling 

Cottage  roof  and  gilded  dome, 
And  thou  with  gentle  radiance  lighting. 

Sculptured  hall  and  mountain  home ! 

"What  a  different  land  is  this.  Our  mountains  give 
us  an  idea  of  grandeur  with  sublimity,  but  never  before 
did  I  have  an  idea  of  vastness — of  expanse,  of  illimitable 


136  THE    MYRTLE   WREATH. 

ppace.  With  what  new  and  strange  sensations  I  stood 
upon  the  deck  and  witnessed  the  meeting  of  these  mighty 
waters, — the  Ohio  and  the  Mississippi.  Where  are  the 
fountains  from  which  they  flow  ?  Centuries  have  passed 
away  and  still  they  are  rolling  on,  and  on,  and  on!  I  had 
sailed  the  whole  length  of  the  Ohio,  one  of  the  great  tri 
butaries  of  the  Father  of  waters,  and  had  never  for  a  mo 
ment  ceased  to  wonder,  but  now  I  am  on  the  river  of 
rivers,  and  can  scarcely  control  my  enthusiasm  as  my 
thoughts  wander  far  away  to  the  north  and  trace  the 
thousands  and  thousands  of  miles  it  must  traverse,  as  it 
goes  widening,  arid  deepening,  and  swelling,  so  ma 
jestic,  so  conscious  of  its  power  ere  it  pours  its  dark 
flood  over  the  bosom  of  the  sea. 


f  <|e  Stag  *  $$md  ®ta  toft,  jrrf  afiwajs 


!  will  you  not  let  me  rest  here  one  night  ?  I 
have  not  where  to  lay  my  head." 
If  you  will  go  with  me  up  town,  dear  reader,  I  will 
point  you  to  an  elegant  mansion,  in  which  once  dwelt  a 
family  reared  in  all  the  luxury  which  wealth  can  pur 
chase  and  indulgence  lavish.  There  dwelt  an  only 
daughter ;  I  knew  her  in  her  pride  and  beauty,  and 
have  seen  her  the  envied  among  her  young  companions ; 
and  how  many  have  I  watched,  as  they  basked  delighted 

in  the  sunshine  of  her  smile. 

(137) 


THE    MYRTLE    WREATH. 

1  knew  him,  too,  who  was  lord  of  that  stately  man 
sion,  and  the  proud  scorner  of  the  humble  ;  who  hesitated 
not  to  trample  upon  the  lowly,  and — aye,  shall  I  say  it  ? 
— could  look  all  around  him  and  see  the  wreck  of  crushed 
and  broken  and  bleeding  hearts — the  victims  of  his 
perjury — crying  to  him  for  justice  and  for  mercy,  with 
out  a  shudder  or  a  pang. 

Very  carefully  did  he  guard  his  idol,  that  neither 
tempter"  nor  destroyer  should  come  nigh  unto  her  or 
whisper  flatteries  in  her  ear  ;  and  very  emphatically  did 
he  make  it  understood  that  none  but  the  rich  should  sue 
for  her  hand.  No  toil  had  ever  stained  those  rosy  fin 
gers  ;  not  a  dream  had  that  fair  young  girl  that  change 
could  ever  come  to  her.  She  had  never  had  a  glimpse 
of  poverty  ;  and  never  even  heard  of  wretchedness.  In 
an  evil  hour  the  father  was  smitten  by  the  pestilence, 
which  is  no  respecter  of  the  proud  or  the  high-born, 
and  the  widow  and  the  orphan  stood  palsied  by  the 
blow.  They  had  lived  upon  the  gains  accumulated  by 
fraud,  and  now  came  the  terrible  tribulation — they  were 
in  their  turn  defrauded. 

Those  whom  they  had  called  friends  vanished  like 
chaff  before  the  wind,  and  there  they  stood  alone ! 
Alone  in  this  great  City,  where  a  little  while  ago  they 
received  the  homage  of  thousands,  and  their  patronage 
was  courted  as  the  certain  passport  to  distinction. 

They  shrunk  from  labor  as  from  contamination  and 


TH£  STOBY  A  THOUSAND  TIMES  TOLD.  139 

yet  they  tried  to  toil.  But  there  was  one  hope  to  which 
they  clung.  Beauty  often  purchases  wealth,  and  Isabel 
was  beautiful.  There  were  none  to  guard  her  now  ;  and, 
alas !  for  those  mysterious  words  uttered  by  Him  in 
whom  is  all  wisdom,  "  The  sins  of  the  father  shall  be  vis 
ited  upon  the  children  even  to  the  third  and  fourth  ge 
neration.  Was  it  for  the  innocent  he  had  betrayed  and 
hurled  to  infamy,  that  his  child  was  left  to  the  tender 
mercies  of  the  heartless  seducer  ?  Oh,  ye  fathers  and 
husbands !  would  that  it  were  burnt  into  your  hearts 
and  branded  upon  your  foreheads,  if  not  otherwise  ye 
can  be  made  to  remember  that  poverty,  and  guilt,  and 
shame  may  thus  descend  to  the  pure,  and  lovely, 
and  trusting,  to  whom  you  have  given  life,  and  whom 
you  would  rather  consign  in  the  bloom  of  life  and 
health  and  beauty,  to  the  worm  and  the  winding-sheet, 
than  see  them  fall  into  just  such  hands  as  yours  ! 

I  need  not  dwell  on  the  sequel.  He  who  sought  her 
talked  of  love,  of  honor  and  truth,  and  she  who  listened, 
loved,  and  trusted,  and  fell.  The  mother/ is  made 
frantic  by  this  accumulation  of  misery  ;  and  the  daugh 
ter  you  might  have  seen  only  one  week  ago,  ringing 
at  that  same  door  where  she  stood  in  the  day  of  her 
prosperity  to  bow  and  smile  and  utter  welcomes,  asking 
for  "  where  to  lay  her  head." 

She  was  spurned  with  contempt,  and  foil  staggering 
to  the  pavement ;  and  this  was  uttered  by  those  who  saw 


140  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

her  with  a  smile  of  triumph,  "  They  had  no  pity — it  was 
good  enough  for  such  as  she  !" 

Ah,  yes;  and  I  might  go  on  with  my  story,  and  tell 
of  the  brother  of  those  who  could  talk  in  thoughtless 

O 

raillery  of  that  young,  fallen  creature,  and  with  truth 
represent  him  as  polluting  the  very  air  they  breathe. 
A  low,  vulgar,  heartless,  unprincipled,  gambling  debau 
chee.  But  what  of  that  ? — he  is  a  man,  and  may  go 
forth  with  impunity,  trampling  the  life-blood  from  out 
young  hearts. 

It  does  not  procure  for  him  the  word  of  scorn  or 
look  of  contempt ;  bright  eyes  and  ruby  lips  smile  as 
graciously  upon  him,  and  he  is  admitted  to  be  their 
"  attendant"  and  "  protector,"  with  as  much  conidence 
as  if  he  loved  virtue  and  respected  innocence. 

He  looks  from  the  window,  and  sees  that  she,  who 
has  in  her  ignorance  come  to  his  very  door  for  shelter 
and  for  bread,  is  she  who,  a  few  weeks  ago,  clung  to 
him  in  agony,  praying  that  he  would  "  save  her  !  save 
her  !"  and  whom  he  flung  back  with  curses.  He  turns 
pale,  to  be  sure,  as  his  hollow  laugh  echoes  through 
those  gorgeous  saloons,  and  he  mutters  anathemas 
against  "  the  woman  who  should  dare  thus  to  insult  his 
sisters  in  his  mother's  house ;"  but  the  wail  of  broken 
hearts  has  too  often  sounded  in  his  ears,  to  bid  him 
long  tremble  at  a  sight  like  this. 

They  soon  issue  forth  in  silks,  and  satins,  and  velvets, 


THE  STORY  A  THOUSAND  TIMES  TOLD.  141 

just  as  she  was  once  clad,  and  in  a  few  moments  are 
mingling  with  the  gay  crowd  at  the  ball  and  opera,  and 
she  is  forgotten. 

But  whither  has  she  fled  ?  Not  again  did  sne  ring 
at  the  door  of  the  rich,  and  ask  for  bread  of  those  whose 
hands  are  full,  and  who  yet  withhold  from  the  starving. 
She  went  where  she  knew  she  would  not  be  repulsed  ; 
she  laid  herself  down,  not  in  the  grave — that  would 
have  been  too  sweet  a  resting-place — but  in  one  of  those 
worse  than  charnel-houses,  whose  doors  are  ever  open 
to  "  such  as  these." 

But  God,  though  He  chastened,  did  not  forget.  A 
pitying  eye  traced  her  to  this  last  refuge  of  the  despair 
ing,  and  a  friendly  hand  was  stretched  forth  to  snatch 
her  from  a  worse  than  murderer's  doom  ;  and  Heaven 
be  praised  that  now  even  she  may  not  only  be  saved, 
but  restored,  and  by  all  those  whose  respect  is  worth 
having,  respected,  victim  though  she  be  of  perjury, 
wrong,  and  falsehood  !  And  the  time  is  coming — may 
it  come  speedily  ! — when  the  oppressor  shall  wear  the 
mark  of  shame  and  degradation,  and  the  oppressed  lift 
up  their  eyes  in  rejoicing;  for  justice  is  no  longer  a 
stranger  in  the  Earth. 


f  0te. 


IF  I  were  to  entitle  this  article  Fanny  Ford,  or  Mary 
Malcolm,  I  might  introduce  as  much  sentiment  as  I 
pleased — make  my  heroines  as  romantic,  and  falling  in 
love  as  interesting  and  proper  as  any  thing  else  human 
beings  are  in  the  habit  of  doing,  and  with  few  excep 
tions  my  readers  would  not  be  at  all  shocked,  and  most 
of  them  would  be  well  pleased. 

There  are  few  people,  notwithstanding  the  cynical 
professions  of  some,  and  the  unblushing  falsehoods  of 
others,  who  are  not  interested  in  love  stories.  It  is  a 

(142) 


A    CHAPTER    ON    LOVE.  143 

pity  that  love  should  ever  have  become  so  degraded, 
that  any  should  be  unwilling  to  own  its  power,  or  con 
fess  its  individual  influence.  Is  it  not  strange  that  the 
holiest  and  loftiest  principle  of  our  nature  should  be  so 
derided,  and  so  lowered,  that  truth  should  shrink  from 
approaching  it,  and  frankness  be  banished  from  its 
presence  ? 

Next  to  love,  music  has  been  most  proscribed. 

To  conquer  and  to  slay  have  always-  been  the  manly 
occupations,  and  among  Christian  people  this  sentiment 
is  still  echoed,  while  the  Bible  assures  us  that  love  and 
praise  constitute  the  bliss  of  Heaven.  On  almost  every 
page  the  happiness  of  the  Christian  and  the  joy  of  Para 
dise  are  illustrated  by  allusions  to  the  bride,  her  beauty 
and  her  devotion.  But  in  these  days  of  exquisiteness, 
love  must  be  sung  only  in  poetry,  and  pictured  only  in 
novels,  and  the  world  is  reaping  the  fruit  of  such  teach 
ings.  To  change  the  heart  or  root  out  its  affections  is 
impossible,  for  God  hath  made  it,  and  his  laws  are 
immutable.  Some  will  say  that  the  degradation  of 
what  was  originally  so  pure  is  owing  to  the  influence  of 
novels.  Leave  it  then  no  longer  in  the  hands  of  those 
who  are  defiling  it.  Music  is  already  in  a  great  mea 
sure  redeemed,  but  her  sister  is  still  struggling  for  the 
exaltation  which  she  is  forbidden  to  share. 

To  say  of  any  one  "  he  is  love-sick,5'  or  has  been 
"disappointed,"  is  to  place  a  brand  upon  his  forehead, 


144  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

and  yet  no  one  could  merit  these  charges,  who  was 
not  pure  in  heart  and  lofty  in  spirit.  An  English  writer, 
who  has  ventured  to  raise  his  voice  against  this  evil,  re 
lates  the  treatment  which  two  peasants  received  for  the 
same  offence.  One  just  married  had  lost  his  wife,  and 
all  the  people  gathered  together  to  mourn  and  offer  their 
meed  of  sympathy.  The  other  was  about  to  be  married, 
when  the  object  of  his  affection  was  removed  by  death, 
and  because  he  mourned  and  wept,  the  people  sneered, 
and  when  contempt  did  not  banish  his  sadness,  they 
hurried  him  to  a  mad-house,  saying  he  was  worse  than 
a  lunatic. 

How  many  have  I  known,  who  were  ready  with  sym 
pathy  and  aid  for  every  form  of  physical  suffering,  who 
had  only  scorn  for  the  heart's,  woes  and  yet  any  species 
of  torture  to  which  the  body  may  be  subjected,  is  a 
soothing  anodyne  in  comparison  with  the  tortures  of  the 
soul.  How  many  who  have  grown  old  forget  the 
dreams  of  youth,  and  woe  to  those  who  fall  into  their 
hands.  But  more  to  be  pitied  are  those  young,  pure 
beings  who  are  subjected  to  the  control  of  those,  whose 
lives  have  been  so  gross  and  sinful,  that  they  cannot 
conceive  of  purity,  and  who  judge  others  by  their  own 
depravity.  There  are  a  great  many  who  regard  with  a 
just  horror  any  violation  of  the  marriage  vow,  who  con 
sider  it  a  trifling  matter  to  tramole  upon  the  not  less 


A  CHAPTER   ON   LOVE.  145 

sacred  seal  of  betrothal.  The  former,  solemn  and  bind 
ing  as  it  is  or  should  be,  is  but  the  emblem  of  the  holier 
covenant,  which  has  preceded  it,  and  without  which 
marriage  is  a  crime  too  revolting  to  be  named.  The 
one  is  a  consecration  between  two  loving  hearts,  with 
God  only  for  a  witness,  the  other  is  a  ratification  of 
that  covenant,  in  the  presence  of  man. 

And  not  till  he  or  she,  who  is  recreant  to  the  silent 
and  secret  pledge,  shall  be  scorned  as  truly  as  he  or  she' 
who  is  false  to  the  public  vow,  will  society  be  purified 
and  these  holy  relationships  honored  as  God  intended. 
7 


SITTING-  one  day  in  the  elegant  parlor  of  one  of 
those  princely  habitations  which  denote  wealth  and 
the  extent  of  luxury,  we  were  suddenly  started  by  a 
thundering  knock  at  the  street  door  which  threatened 
the  foundations  of  the  establishment,  and  so  frightened 
our  timid  senses,  that  we  were  transfixed  with  fear  and 
trembling.  Hoping  the  tacit  "  no  admittance"  would 
bid  the  intruders  depart,  and  be  at  peace,  we  remained 
mute  and  immovable,  but  louder  and  louder  grew  tho 

astounding  thump,  thump,  thump,  till  we  ventured  to  an 

(146) 


COUNTRY  COUSINS.  147 

opened  window  to  see  what  could  be  the  occasion.  The 
utmost  stretching  of  our  necks  only  permitted  us 
a  glimpse  of  two  forms  standing  on  the  upper  step,  but 
presently  \ve  heard  a  passer  by,  exhprting  them  to  ring 
the  bell  like  Christian  people,  and  not  stand  there  beat 
ing  in  granite  walls.  Upon  this  we  darted  back  out  of 
sight  ,  but  were  not  out  of  hearing,  as  the  question 
which  soon  fell  upon  our  ears  testified.  The  good  man 
gazed  up  and  down,  this  way  and  that,  expecting  to  see 
a  rope  attached  somewhere,  the  other  extremity  of 
which  w7ould  be  fastened  to  a  veritable  church  bell  in 
the  cupola,  not  doubting  that  private  houses  in  the  city 
were  thus  grandly  decorated,  and  was  ready  to  despair 
of  finding  entrance,  when  another  passer  by  kindly 
pointed  to  the  little  handle  by  the  door,  and  bid  him  ring 
till  some  one  came  to  his  relief.  So  the  next  sound 
which  greeted  our  already  excited  auditoriah,  was  the 
continuous  twang  and  jingle,  which  is  better  imagined 
than  described,  when  the  wire  is  pulled  by  a  strong 
hand  and  persevering  will. 

To  this  \ve  concluded  to  respond,  and  what  was  the 
consternation  of  mine  host,  as  we  all  went  in  a  phalanx 
for  the  purpose  of  self-defence,  to  behold  his  cousin 
Nicholas  Countryman,  from  the  northmost  county,  come 
with  his  blooming  bride  on  a  wedding  tour  to  see  their 
"  city  relations."  And  there  they  stood  in  still  greater 
consternation,  wondering  "  why  we  could  not  let  a  feller 


THE    MYRTLE    WREATH. 

in  without  all  this  fuss  ;"  and  there  was  their  baggage — 
a  new  wooden  trunk,  painted  Spanish  brown,  in  imita 
tion  of  mahogany,  a  bright  green  band-box  tied  with 
yellow  list,  which  once  edged  those  pantaloons  of  blue, 
and  a  bundle  under  each  arm — and  there  they  were  on 
our  marble  steps,  in  front  of  our  Doric  Hall,  ready  to  be 
ushered  into  our  grand  saloon,  and  make  themselves  at 
home  on  our  tapestry  carpets  and  velvet  lounges.  It 
was  not  my  province  to  utter  welcomes,  so  I  stood  still 
to  see  what  would  be  done,  and  I  saw  what  gladdened 
my  eyes  and  made  my  heart  rejoice. 

As  soon  as  the  first  surprise  was  over,  no  king  or 
queen  or  nabob,  could  have  been  received  with  more 
genuine  kindness  and  respect.  There  was  not  a  re 
mark  nor  look  nor  smile  that  pointed  to  the  rough  exte 
rior.  The  host  and  hostess  followed  the  Christian  rule 
and  looked  only  on  the  heart,  and  never  did  truer  or 
nobler  hearts  beat  in  human  bosoms.  The  visitors  were 
not  only  feasted  with  all  the  good  things  which  the  mar 
ket  afforded,  but  taken  without  any  winching  or  mincing 
to  see  all  the  lions  and  elephants,  and  everything  was 
done  to  increase  rather  than  to  disturb  their  compla 
cency. 

The  bride  in  her  shiny  new  silk,  and  dunstable  straw, 
with  white  trimmings,  was  accompanied  to  Stewart's, 
and  it  was  a  trial  to  the  gravest  risibles,  after  showing 
her  the  silks,  and  velvets  and  cashmeres  of  such  an 


COUNTRY  COUSINS.  1  49 

establishment  to  hear  her  say  to  the  dashing  clerk 
behind  the  counter,  "  Have  you  any  lemons  to  sell." 
"  Lemons  ?  we  don't  keep  lemons,"  was  the  reply.  "  Oh 
I'm  sorry,  I  wanted  to  get  a  few  to  put  up  in  my  citron 
sarse."  At  the  next  bazaar  the  same  colloquy  was  re 
peated,  when  she  was  with  kindest  delicacy,  informed 
that  the  merchants  did  not  keep  all  sorts  of  things  in  one 
store,  as  they  did  in  the  country,  and  she  should  soon 
call  where  whatever  she  wanted  in  that  line  could  be 
found.  They  spent  a  week  and  had  a  "  good  time,"  as 
their  broad  happy  faces  indicated,  and  returned  home 
to  tell  the  wonders  they  had  seen,  being  furnished  with 
"  food  for  talk"  during  half  the  winter's  evenings  by  the 
fireside.  Their  trip  to  the  great  city,  would  be  an  era 
to  look  back  upon  all  their  lives.  If  some  people  had 
been  called  upon  to  do  the  honors  on  such  an  occasion, 
they  would  have  made  it  a  week  of  misery  and  so 
wounded  two  honest  hearts,  that  a  lifetime  would  not 
imve  healed  the  wound.  * 


DTD  you  ever  look  into  one  of  those  mysterious 
drawers,  which  ladies  spend  so  much  time  in  filling 
and  arranging,  and  open  and  shut  with  so  much 
importance ;  looking  all  the  while  as  if  they  had  just 
been  appointed  maid  of  honor  to  the  Princess  royal  ? 
This  I  was  permitted  to  do  not  long  ago,  and  I  did  not 
pay  anything  for  the  sight ;  but  I  believe  I  am  one  of 
the  privileged  ones. 

I  cannot  tell  what  you  would  do  ;  and  whatever  you 
may  think  of  me,  I  do  not  blush  to  confess,  that  I  took 

(150) 


OUR  BABY.  151 

those  tiny  shoes,  which  looked  as  if  they  might  just  fit 
Queen  Mab,  and  pressed  them  to  my  lips.  They  were 
snugly  lying  in  one  corner,  and  in  the  other  were  curious 
layers  of  German  worsted,  with  such  curious  devices ! 
In  the  centre  was  a  cushion  of  white  embroidered  with 
blue,  on  which  came  out,  in  full  relief,  the  initial  letters 
of  a  name,  which  no  living  person  bore  that  I  knew  ! 
All  around  were  lying  little  gossamer  things,  with 
Mechlin  edges  and  delicate  tassels  and  silken  fringes. 
Why,  if  the  Queen  had  been  coming,  I  think  there 
would  have  been  no  more  elaborate  preparation.  One 
after  another  I  took  them  up  and  laid  them  down  again, 
with  the  fear  almost  that  they  would  vanish  at  the 
touch  of  my  fingers,  and  all  the  while  there  stood  one 
looking  on,  with  a  delight  no  words  of  mine  can  possibly 
describe. 

This  was  six  months  ago — and  tnen  I  could  laugh 
aloud  and  make  any  noise  I  pleased — but  soon  I  went 
away,  and  now  I'm  here  again.  The  sequel  is  this ! 

"  Hush,  hush,  you  will  wake  the  baby  !"  Who  in  all 
the  world  has  not  heard  this  warning,  and  heeded  it,  too. 
I  am  laughing  as  loud  as  I  can,  and  feel,  just  now,  so 
full  of  fun  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  repress  my 
mirth ;  yet,  instantly,  I  am  keeping  breathless  silence  ; 
for  what  if  I  should  wake  the  baby.  Why  it  would 
cry,  and  then  such  a  singing  and  rocking,  and  lullabying 
as  would  be  necessary  to  get  it  to  sleep  again.  But  this 


152  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

is  not  all  the  reason.  It  is  a  little  lump  of  a  thing,  to 
be  sure,  but  then  it  is  our  baby.  I  might  go  into  every 
house  in  Christendom,  and  in  heathendom,  too,  I  sup 
pose,  and  there  I  should  find  just  such  a  little  lump  ;  it 
would  be  lying  in  a  crib  or  in  a  cradle — on  the  floor,  or 
in  a  hammock  ; — all  would  be  engaged  in  a  similar  em 
ployment — holding  a  rattle  or  sucking  a  thumb — rolling 
over  or  tied  in  a  chair;  and  the  millions  and  millions 
who  have  peopled  the  world,  have  all  grown  out  of  just 
such  little  dumplings  ;  but  yet  there  would  not  be  one  so 
wonderful  as  our  baby. 

Why,  just  see  :  How  fine  and  soft  and  silky  the  hair 
that  covers  its  little  head.  There  have  been  blue  eyes, 
but  never  any  that  were  so  sunny — never  any  dimples 
quite  so  sweet  as  those  which  nestle  in  the  cheek  of 
LULY.  "  There  never  was  a  baby  so  good,  that  gave  so 
little  trouble  to  its  mamma."  "  Why,  you  would 
hardly  know  there  was  a  baby  in  the  house." 

Do  you  see  her  ?  She  has  on  a  little  white  frock, 
with  the  three  cornered  bib  pinned  neatly  down  before, 
and  tied  behind.  The  sleeve  is  looped  by  a  cunning  little 
button  on  the  shoulder;  and  there  is  lurking  underneath 
the  daintiest  bit  of  linen  cambric  edged  with  lace;  and 
round  the  bosom  peeps  up  a  little  frill,  vieing  with  its 
snowy  resting-place  for  whiteness.  A  lily-bud,  with  the 
petals  just  opening  to  the  light,  our  LULY  is. 

I  have  tried  a  thousand  times  to  tell  why  it  was  so 


OUR    BABY.  153 

beautiful — why,  the  little  thing,  without  a  thought  of 
doing  it,  should  bewitch  us  so.  I  have  seen  a  hundred 
babies  smile,  and  yet  I  never  see  the  gleam  from  out 
that  little  soul  in  those  blue  eyes,  without  forgetting  all 
things  else,  to  gaze,  and  wander  and  almost  worship. 

Do  you  see  her  ?  I  wish  you  could.  They  have  put 
her  on  the  floor ;  and  in  defiance  of  all  these  chains  and 
scollops  mamma  spent  so  much  time  in  linking — in  de 
fiance  all  that  skirt,  three  times  her  length  to  trammel 
her,  out  come  those  little  feet  with  little  socks  so 
cunningly  tipped  with  blue  ;  and  may  I  never  see  again 
the*  stoic  or  old  bachelor  who  wTould  not  stand  entranced 
by  such  a  vision  of  perfect  happiness  as  Baby  is,  with 
one  foot  in  the  hand  and  the  other  in  the  mouth,  and 
warbling  in  her  little  throat  a  strain  of  music  which  no 
cultivator  of  quavers  or  semi-quavers  can  ever  imitate,  or 
make  to  strike  so  thrillingly  on  a  mother's  soul. 

I  remember  when  papa  would  not  hold  a  baby, — 
would  not  even  look  at  one.  No,  he  was  not  so  weak 
and  silly  ; — but  this  is  his  baby,  our  baby — so  different 
from  babies  he  has  ever  before  been  called  upon  to 
notice ,  its  loving  goo,  goo,  goo,  is  full  of  meaning. 
And  will  you  not  forgive  him  if  the  newspapers  and 
musty  law  books  have  lost  their  charms,  now  that  he  has 
a  little  living,  moving  book,  every  day  and  hour  develo 
ping  some  new  page,  illustrated  as  no  human  artist's 
skill  can  equal  ? 


154  THE    MYRTLE   WKEATH. 

And  now, — no  mother  in  the  land  will  believe  me, 
and  yet  'tis  true, — the  baby  is  in  my  lap.  It  is  not  my 
baby, — oh  no  !  I  have  not  attained  unto  so  much 
honor, — but  it  is  our  baby,  all  the  same,  and  the  fond 
ness  she  manifests  for  pen  and  paper  would  not  be  at 
all  gratifying  to  those  who  think  these  such  bugbears 
to  usefulness' 

Oftener  than  at  every  period,  I  stop  to  press  a  kiss 
upon  her  cheek,  and  at  every  paragraph  my  pen  is 
dropped  to  give  a  smile  and  woo  it  back  again.  Oh, 
what  is  heart  of  man  or  woman  worth,  that  does  not  melt 
in  the  warmth  of  sunbeam  such  as  this  ? 

I  put  my  lips  to  hers  to  taste  the  sweet  infant 
breath,  and  it  is  like  sipping  nectar  from  the  floweret's 
brim.  As  fair  as  the  lily  of  the  valley  she  will  grow, — 
as  perfect  in  her  beauty.  Oh,  may  she  be  as  pure 
among  the  daughters  of  the  land,  as  this  among  the  lilies 
of  the  field, 


(teinj. 


IT  grieves  my  heart  to  see  the  woodman's  axe 
And  fire  relentless  raze  those  grand  old  woods ! 
For  centuries  their  giant  trees  have  stood, 
Dallying  with  summer's  breeze — but  proud  and  stern 
In  winter's  storms  defiant  of  the  winds 
That  ride  on  tempest  wings. 

But  now  they  fall, 

The  elm,  the  oak,  the  bold  and  hardy  fir, 
Powerless  to  Earth  before  the  ruthless  hand 
Of  puny  man,  and  heaped  in  massive  piles 

(155) 


156  THE   MYRTLE  WREATH. 

Awaits  the  torch  that  gives  their  noble  forms 
A  holocaust  unto  the  god  of  fire. 

The  thousand  birds  that  waken  their  music  notes 
In  that  old  haunt,  the  squirrel  and  the  hare, 
Have  lost  a  home.     The  evening  zephyr  mourns 
In  silence,  and  the  strongly  girded  winds 
"Which  battled  with  those  trees  will  now  pass  by 
"With  cold  and  heartless  sneer. 

I  too  may  mourn, 

For  every  nook  long  cherished  and  so  dear ; 
The  glen  with  wild  enchanting  solitude, 
And  even  the  precipice,  though  frowning  now 
In  bolder  grandeur,  all  have  lost  their  charms. 

But  lo  !  the  lighted  fires  come  creeping  on, 

And  every  tree  and  shrub  and  running  vine 

Becomes  its  prey.     The  parti- colored  leaves 

Crackle  and  curl  and  wither  in  the  blaze, 

And  where  the  red  flame  wreathes  its  frightful  folds 

Around  some  grey  old  trunk,  anon  I  hear 

The  hissing  of  a  thousand  forked  tongues. 

The  woodmen  shout  and  hurry  to  and  fro, 

Curbing  the  fire,  lest  o'er  the  circling  bound 

It  make  a  fearful  stride. 

The  winding  paths, 


THE    CLEARING.  157 

Where  oft  I've  strayed  at  twilight's  lonely  hour, 
To  hear  the  music  that  the  passions  lulls, 
And  wakens  holy  thoughts,  with  cinders  dark 
Are  filled,  and  o'er  the  favorite  mossy  mound 
Where  I  have  loved  to  sit  and  muse  alone 
Amid  the  stillness  of  this  solemn  place, 
Lie  heaps  of  ashes. 

Ah,  'tis  ruin  all ! 

That  scene  of  beauty — trees  and  leaves  and  flowers, 
Gorgeous  in  sunlight  of  morn  or  even — 
Is  now  a  waste.     Alas  !  that  no  loved  haunt 
Escapes  the  all  relentless  CLEARING'S  doom  ! 

The  smoke  of  smouldering  fires  is  curling  still, 
Above  the  brushwood  piles,  and  swarthy  men, 
The  echo  of  whose  voices  may  be  heard 
With  dismal  sound  through  all  the  open  plain, 
Together  roll  the  trees'  gigantic  stems, 
That  shake  the  earth,  and  fill  the  air  with  groans. 
Like  rumbling  of  the  distant  thunder  cloud. 

Vision  prophetic  now  is  not  required. 

To  trace  the  progress  of  the  coming  years ; 

The  grounds  where  stood  the  forest  dark  and  dense, 

Are  open  to  the  noonday  sun ;  and  soon 


158  THE   MYRTLE    WREATH. 

The  humble  cot  will  rise — cheerful  abode 

Of  industry  and  honest  enterprise  : 

The  greensward  then  will  smile  around  the  door, 

And  o'er  the  fields  the  yellow  harvest  wave. 

The  knolls  and  clumps  and  rubbish  rude,  will  yield 

To  energetic  toil.     The  grazing  kine 

"Will  crop  the  grass  upon  the  green  hill  side, 

And  lazy  sheep  will  feed  the  live-long  day 

Among  the  rocks,  and  peace  and  happiness 

"Will  smile  around  the  frugal  yeoman's  board. 

Oh  !  could  it  thus  remain  I  would  not  sigh 
For  all  my  woodland  groves  and  olden  haunts ; 
But  luxury,  welcome  guest,  will  enter  in, 
"With  all  her  menial  train — and  lighted  halls, 
And  festive  circles  gay  will  take  the  place 
Of  rural  sports  upon  the  village  green. 
The  laugh  of  glee  which  bursts  from  merry  hearts 
Untuned  to  fashion's  rules  will  melt  away 
In  polished  smiles.     The  rich  will  own  the  soil, 
The  poor  with  toil  severe  will  earn  their  bread. 
In  garden,  grove  and  bower,  will  art  entwine 
Her  garlands  bright,  and  with  alluring  grace 
In  every  form  invite  to  indolence 
And  ease. 


THE    CLEARING.  159 

But  not  contentment  this.     The  love 
That  dwelt  beneath  the  cottage  roof  has  fled 
The  spacious  dome.     The  ruddy  glow  of  health 
Has  vanished  too.     The  feverish  flush  betrays 
A  sated  worshipper  at  pleasure's  shrine, 
Or  one  who  spends  the  wakeful  weary  nights 
In  bovvino;  with  ambition's  votaries. 


o 


Would  that  my  muse  might  rest  in  silence  here  ! 
But  truth  would  bid  her  tell  of  passions  base, 
And  vice  that  ever  follows  in  the  train 
Where  selfish  pleasure  leads. 

No  tyrant  yet 

Hath  held  his  sceptre  o'er  our  happy  land — 
No  despot's  scourge  intruded  on  the  home 
Of  peace,  to  bid  the  peasant  leave  his  roof 
And  seek  asylum  in  a  foreign  clime ; 
No  King  can  roll  his  chariot  o'er  our  fields, 
And  gather  half  the  produce  of  our  soil, 
To  weave  his  golden  tissued  robes,  or  load 
His  table  from  a  world's  luxurious  store. 
But  downy  couch  and  silken  curtain  folds 
Are  not  alone  enjoyed  by  kings.  Although 
No  mitred  heads  or  regal  crowns  are  found 
Among  our  nation's  noblemen,  we  blush 


160  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

To  own  the  many  who  can  basely  bend 
To  barter  e'en  their  country's  glorious  fame — 
Her  honor  and  her  virtue  too,  to  fill 
Their  princely  halls  with  all  the  pageantry 
Of  kings,  parade  and  pornp  which  palaces 
Of  titled  noblemen  would  scorn  to  own  1 

Republican  simplicity  !  the  shrine 

At  which  the  orator  pretends  to  bow, 

Is  but  a  name.     Go  home  with  him,  and  who 

Could  count  the  courses  at  his  daily  meals — 

The  meats,  the  wines  and  desserts  rare,  which  yet 

The  pampered  palate  loathes — the  retinue 

Of  servants  trained  perchance  in  foreign  courts, 

To  wait  his  nod,  to  speak  in  phrase  like  those 

"Who  worship  Royalty — to  move  with  step 

Of  servile  tread,  with  face  of  servile  mould, 

As  courtly  rules  demand  ! 

The  statesman  asks 

Eetrenchment !  loud  reverberates  the  word 
In  Congress  hall,  and  on  the  senate  floor ! 
Eetrenchment !     Where  ?     Within  his  marble  walls  ? 
Oh  no  !     His  carpets  must  be  brought  across 
The  ocean  wave;  he  must  at  ease  recline 
On  "  divans  "  rich,  with  gold  and  silver  threads  ; 
Parisian  drapery  curtains  him  at  night, 


THE  CLEARING.  161 

And  "  ottomans  "  and  "  tabourets  "  adorn 

His  gorgeous  halls  !    French  mirrors  must  reflect 

His  form.     And  he  who  scarce  can  gain  by  days 

And  nights  of  anxious  toil,  the  paltry  sum, 

His  daily  wants  demand,  large  share  must  give 

Of  this  to  fill  the  coffers  that  supply — 

I  must  not  say  court  sycophants,  but  those 

Whose C(  bills,"  "  expenditures,"  would  puzzle  "  peers  " 

Impoverish  "  princes  of  the  realm  " — whose  dress 

And  equipage  would  dazzle  at  the  queen's  levee ! 

Oh  luxury,  how  many  states 
And  empires  owe  to  thee  their  seeming  rise, 
To  opulence  prosperity  and  power, 
The  marks  of  degradation,  ruin,  death  ! 
Dominion  is  not  strength  !     Our  banner  bright 
May  proudly  wave  o'er  land  and  ocean  wide, 
And  yet  the  mighty  pillars  which  support 
Our  nation's  glory  and  her  bright  renown, 
May  harbor  the  insidious  worm  which  gnaws 
The  root  and  saps  the  vitals  ! 

Let  the  great 

And  mighty  intellects,  the  noble  men 
AVho  weave  the  tissue  of  their  country's  fame 
And  give  our  government  its  character  abroad, — 
'  Who're  building  up  this  vast  republic,  grand 
And  glorious  monument  of  freedom's  strength 


162  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH 

Beware !  lest  the  proud  column  which  they  rear, 
And  hope  through  many  ages  will  withstand 
The  ravages  of  time,  and  heavy  blows 
Of  many  a  secret,  more  inveterate  foe, 
Shall  crumble  ere  its  beauty  be  effaced, 
Ere  they  have  ceased  to  boast  its  symmetry, 
And  bid  their  sons  look  on  its  grandeur ;  lest 
The  beauteous  tree,  their  fathers  planted,  they 
Have  watered,  wither  and  decay  before 
A  generation,  shall  beneath  its  boughs 
Have  found  repose,  or  tasted  of  its  fruit ! 


*  */~\H,  ^  is  not  much  matter.     I  shall  be  back  in  a 
\J  few  days  !   I  have  nothing  particular  to  say.    It 
is  no  use  writing  just  to  tell  her  I  am  well."     This  was 
a  husband's  soliloquy. 

My  dear  sir,  have  you  lived  with  her  so  long,  and 
not  learned  that  "  your  smile  is  dearer  to  her  than  the 
light  of  Heaven  ?"  If  you  will  sit  down  and  say  : 
"  Dearest,  I  am  well,  and  will  soon  be  back  again,"  it 
would  be  more  than  any  rod  to  support  her, — more 

than  any  staff  to  comfort  her.     Your  affection  is  more 

(163) 


16'4  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

than  meat  to  her,  your  presence  more  than  raiment. 
She  is  alone  now.  She  has  felt  so  secure  when  you 
were  there, — she  has  slept  so  sweetly  by  your  side, 
that  you  cannot  know  how  she  starts 'at  every  sound 
when  you  are  absent ;  how  timidly  she  moves  about, 
feeling  in  every  nerve  that  she  is  without  protection. 

You  are  strong,  and  know  not  what  it  is  to  rely  upon 
another,  but  she  has  never  learned  to  rely  upon  herself. 
Remember,  you  have  taught  her  that  this  clinging 
dependance,  this  love  and  trust,  are  the  beauty  and 
glory  of  woman.  This  was  what  attracted  you.  This 
was  what  you  professed  to  love  her  for. 

When  you  cease  to  love  her,  she  will  die,  but  though 
she  does  not  yet  doubt  it,  the  sweetest  of  all  incense  is 
to  hear  it  from  your  lips. 

"  No  letter  !"  You  have  been  absent  three  days  ; 
and  she  soliloquizes,  too :  "  He  is  busy.  He  is  well, 
certainly,  or  he  would  let  me  know.  I  shall  hear 
to-morrow."  But  she  is  sad.  She  does  now  know  the 
cause.  She  would  not  for  a  thousand  worlds  acknow 
ledge  that  she  feared  you  loved  her  less,  but  there  is  an 
incubus  upon  her  spirits. 

She  has  written  every  day,  almost  every  hour ;  not 
because  it  was  her  duty,  not  because  you  requested  it 
or  expected  it ;  but  because  she  could  not  help  it.  Her 
heart  was  full  to  overflowing.  Every  breath  was  some 
expression  of  her  gushing  love.  You  cannot  love  her 


A  HUSBAND'S  SOLILOQUY.  165 

as  she  loves  you,  but  you  can  manifest  the  love  you 
have. 

Write — tell  her  that  you  have  not  prospered  in 
business,  that  you  are  sick,  aye,  that  you  are  imprison 
ed  ;  but  add  that  your  love  fails  not,  and  would  that  you 
could  be  there  to  see  how  the  heart  lightens,  and  the 
face  brightens.  Tell  her  that  though  absent,  your 
heart  is  still  with  her,  and  she  will  shrink  from  no  trial 
and  fear  no  danger. 

Eemember,  ye  who  tell  us  that  home  is  our  sphere 
and  love  our  office,  that  it  is  your  home  in  which  we 
live,  your  love  which  is  our  life,  and  when  you  take 
from  us  that  which  is  our  very  existence,  blame  us  not 
if  we  go  forth  into  the  world  to  find  the  solace  and  the 
compensation  which  you  prefer,  to  the  devotion  of  a 
heart  which  would  immolate  itself  on  any  altar  for 
your  honor  and  your  happiness. 


,  immcs,  aidr 


M 


OST  people  are  aware  that  there  are  some  general 
rules  to  be  observed  with  regard  to  dress,  without 
regard  to  fashion.  A  short  lady  with  a  dumpy  form, 
knows  or  ought  to  know,  that  she, must  not  wear  large 
figures  and  high  colors  unless  she  would  look  hideous; 
and  a  tall  lady  that  she  must  abjure  vines  and  stripes, 
though  she  may  sport  frills  and  flounces. 

Few  people  seem  ever  to  think  of  the  effect  of  color 
and  figure  in  selecting  carpets  and  paper  hangings,  and 
designers  are  originally  at  fault,  or  such  outlandish  com 
binations  would  not  be  offered.  The  floor  is  a  plain 

(166) 


DRESS,  HOUSES,  AND  HOUSE- WORK.     167 

surface  and  should  ever  remain  so ;  we  do  not  walk 
over  castles  and  trees,  and  shrubbery,  and  it  is  bad 
taste  to  make  us  seem  to.  It  is  a  curious  fact  that  the 
Turks  excel  in  carpets,  arid  that  the  Turkish  carpet  of 
to-day  is  the  same  as  that  which  kings  only  could  pur 
chase  centuries  ago,  proving  that  what  is  really  beauti 
ful  lives  through  all  fashion  and  change.  The  carpet 
should  be  darker  than  the  walls,  and  always  selected 
with  reference  to  the  paper  and  the  size  of  the  room. 

Goethe  said  "  Colors  have  great  effect  upon  the  feel 
ings,"  and  a  Frenchman  once  observed  that  his  conver 
sation  with  Madame  had  become  of  a  "  different  character 
since  she  had  changed  her  boudoir,  which  was  formerly 
blue."  One  colored  paper  will  make  a  room  look  cold 
and  cheerless,  and  another  render  the  same  apartment 
warm  and  cheerful.  A  southern  exposure  will  bear  a 
green  paper,  while  the  same  color  on  a  northern  room, 
would  chill  us  with  the  thermometer  at  eighty. 

A  dining  room  should  have  a  rich  dark  paper,  for 
With  this  room  we  wish  especially  to  associate  comfort 
and  portraits  should  be  hung  here  where  familiar  faces 
were  wont  to  congregate,  and  where  we  love  still  to  see 
them  linger. 

The  Architect  and  Designer  have  a  distinct  profes 
sion  in  the  city,  and  we  are  impatient  to  see  them  multi 
ply  so  that  country  housewives  may  not  live  another  ge- 


168  THE   MYRTLE  WREATH. 

neration  without  the  slightest  conception  of  convenience 
in  any  of  their  household  arrangements. 

We  have  in  our  mind  many  old  fashioned  castles  con 
sidered  in  their  day  models  of  elegancev  and  comfort, 
which  would  now  be  looked  upon  as  a  disgrace  to  the 
dark  ages.  The  kitchen  is  a  Sabbath  day's  journey 
from  the  store  house,  and  the  china  closet  another  from 
both — and  to  get  the  articles  for  one  meal,  the  wife,  maid 
and  mother,  all  in  one,  must  run  miles  up  stairs  and 
down  stairs,  in 'doors  and  out,  and  round  Robin  Hood's 
barn,  with  no  possibility  of  so  doing  without  being  ex 
posed  to  extremes  of  heat  and  cold,  sufficient  in  one 
week  to  destroy  any  ordinary  constitution.  "While  her 
"  loving  spouse,"  thinks  she  is  "  having  a  very  easy 
time,  doing  nothing  that  deserves  the  name  of  labor !" 

But  in  this  case  there  is  little  hope  of  convincing  the 
"  superior  portion  of  creation"  that  it  is  possible  for 
them  to  err,  as  experience  alone  could  become  the  effec 
tual  teacher,  and  their  position  prevents  their  coming 
under  her  tuition ! 


Clje  toe  fjcm 


,  fire  !"  What  a  startling  sound  is  this  at 
midnight,  when  your  slumber  is  deepest.  "  Fire, 
fire  !"  And  the  noise  of  trampling  feet  and  rattling 
wheels  is  mingled  with  the  deafening  screams. 

By  these  sounds  I  was  awakened  a  few  nights  since, 
and  looked  forth  upon  the  grand  but  terrific  sight  of  a 
house  in  flames.  "  And  where  are  those  who  were 
sweetly  and  securely  dreaming  beneath  that  roof  only 
an  hour  ago  ?"  I  exclaimed,  as  I  heard  the  crash  of 
glass,  and  saw  the  smoke  charring  the  walls  and  black- 
8  (169) 


170  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

ening  the  timbers,  and  the  fruitless  efforts  of  the  coura 
geous  firemen  to  stop  the  work  of  destruction. 

It  was  occupied  by  a  mother  and  three  children — the 
youngest  an  infant  in  the  cradle.  At  the  first  alarm, 
the  mother  fled  with  two  that  could  cling  to  her, 
intending  to  return  for  the  baby,  when  they  were  placed 
beyond  danger.  But  then  it  will  be  too  late  ;  the  roof 
is  tumbling,  and  the  smoke  has  filled  every  room 
to  suffocation. 

But  the  mother  is  frantic,  and  cries  "  Oh  save  my 
child  !"  "  Where  is  it  ?"  asked  one  of  these  brave  men, 
ready  at  any  moment  to  peril  life  and  limb,  in  obedience 
to  the  mandate  which  calls  them  forth  ;  "  Where  is  it? 
— I  will  try."  She  points  to  the  chamber  where  she 
left  the  sleeping  infant,  and  in  another  instant  he  is 
scaling  the  ladder  which  rests  against  the  tottering  wall. 
The  multitude  is  gazing  anxiously,  with  scarcely  a  hope 
that  he  will  accomplish  his  noble  purpose.  The  water 
is  pouring  upon  every  side  ;  the  hissing  and  roaring  and 
crackling  becomes  fearful ;  he  enters  the  window — our 
suspense  is  agony  ;  he  appears  again — that  strong,  bold 
man ;  ah,  yes  !  and  the  little  unconscious  creature  is 
nestling  in  his  bosom.  Can  he  descend  ? — how  carefully 
he  steps !  Our  nerves  are  ready  to  snap  with  the  pain 
ful  distension — no ;  it  is  in  vain,  he  cnnnot  reach  the 
ground  in  safety — they  will  bo  buried  beneath  the  burn- 
'ng  ruins.  "  Oh,  save  them,  save  them,"  cry  a  hundred 


THE   TRUE    HERO.  17  J 

voices,  and  there  is  a  rush  towards  the  spot.  But  he  is 
calm,  and  betrays  no  fear — they  are  safe;  and  while 
the  air  is  resounding  with  his  praises,  he  gently  places 
the  child  on  its  mother's  bosom. 

Her  heart  is  too  full  to  speak  her  gratitude,  and  ere 
the  words  can  come  to  her  relief,  he  has  disappeared 
among  the  crowd,  and  she  does  not  even  know  his  name. 
If  such  an  instance  of  heroism  had  occurred  on  the  bat' 
tie  field,  how  many  a  bard  would  have  sung  the  hero's 
praises.  His  name  would  have  been  emblazoned  on  the 
page  of  history,  and  Princes  would  have  sought  to  do 
him  honor.  But  he  is  a  fireman,  and  has  only  per 
formed  his  duty.  He  is  the  citizen  of  a  humble  class, 
and  must  not  expect  to  be  crowned  with  laurels.  It  is 
a  duty  he  performs  every  day  or  night,  whenever  he  is 
called  upon ;  and  that  he  never  shrinks  from  danger,  or 
turns  a  deaf  ear  to  the  prayers  of  the  widow  and  or 
phan,  the  aged  and  the  helpless,  is  no  great  merit. 
This  is  what  he  knows  is  expected  of  him  when  he  en 
rolls  himself  with  the  little  band  who  are  more  than  bul 
wark  and  fortress  and  armed  legions,  round  about  the 
walls  of  the  great  city. 

So  the  soldier  knows  what  is  expected  of  him  when 
he  enlists  for  the  field  of  battle,  but  his  brave  deeds  are 
not  the  less  recorded,  and  it  is  heralded  with  triumph 
when  the  conqueror  proves  to  be  merciful. 


172  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

Let  us  at  least  show  our  appreciation  of  labors  which 
are  performed  so  faithfully  and  disinterestedly,  and 
never  forget  the  brave  spirits  without  whose  guardian 
ship  we  should  scarcely  dare  to  slumber,  and  honor  the 
true  heart,  however  humble  the  bosom  in  which  it 
beats. 


pnt  10 


W  WT  T  is  no  use  to  try  to  teach  these  Irish.  It  is 
JL  more  trouble  to  run  after  them  than  to  do  the 
work.  They  waste  more  than  they  are  worth,"  &c.,  &c. 
These  are  remarks  we  often  hear  from  ladies  who 
have  seen  much  trouble  with  their  "  help,"  and  I  would 
like  to  ask  some  of  them  to  walk  with  me  into  that  neat 
little  cottage  down  in  the  valley,  and  see  one  of  "  those 
Irish,"  who  came  from  old  Ireland  some  five  years  ago, 
as  "  raw"  as  one  of  their  own  praties.  Just  look  at 
her  now,  around  red  rosy  cheeked  girl,  as  smiling  as  a 

(173) 


174  THE    MYRTLE    WREATH. 

May  morning,  and  tidy  as  a  pattern  dairy  maid.  She 
trips  about  as  softly  as  if  her  feet  were  shod  with  velvet, 
and  there  is  nothing  in  all  the  annals  of  cookery,  break 
fast,  dinner  or  supper,  which  she  is  not  skilled  in  doing. 

If  the  Prime  Minister  were  coming,  Kitty  would  get 
the  dinner  without  any  assistance,  and  he  should  have 
roast  beef  done  to  suit  an  Englishman's  palate,  and  all 
the  etceteras  should  satisfy  the  veriest  epicure. 

But  it  took  a  long  time  and  much  patience  to  teach 
her,  and  it  was  not  done  by  sitting  in  the  parlor  and  tel 
ling  her  to  do  this  and  that,  and  going  into  the  kitchen 
to  fret  if  it  were  not  done.  Her  mistress  worked  with 
her,  and  kindly  and  patiently  showed  her  with  her  own 
hands  how  to  make  bread  and  roast  meat,  rub 
silver  and  wash  pots  and  kettles.  Not  a  week  nor 
a  month,  but  a  year,  did  she  spend  in  training  her,  and 
now  she  has  her  reward. 

She  could  neither  read  nor  write,  nor  sew,  and  now 
she  can  indite  a  pretty  letter,  and  read  any  ordinary 
book.  She  can  knit  her  own  stockings,  and  do  her  own 
sewing,  and  has  had  her  taste  cultivated,  so  as  to  dress 
neatly  and  becomingly.  She  has  sent  many  dollars  back 
to  Ireland,  and  laid  up  quite  a  little  store,  and  above  all 
is  faithful  and  affectionate,  disinterested  and  self  deny 
ing.  And  yet  she  was  not  a  promising  subject  at  all — 
not  smart  or  tidy  naturally,  and  is  still  very  moderate 
in  her  movements. 


HINT  TO  HOUSEKEEPERS.  175 

It  is  often  the  case  that  we  expect  more  of  servants 
than  we  can  possibly  perform  ourselves — to  bear  with 
more  patience  the  constantly  recurring  trials  of  the 
kitchen  and  nursery.  They  are  doomed  to  the  kitchen 
all  day,  and  the  garret  all  night, — Aweary,  with  nothing 
to  cheer  the  present  or  brighten  the  future 

We  forget  the  golden  rule,  and  are  not  willing  to 
think  what  we  should  have  been  had  we  been  born  in 
an  Irish  hovel,  and  left  to  a  worse  neglect  than  the 
beasts  that  perish.  They  have  many  faults,  and  re 
quire  the  exercise  of  much  patience,  but  they  have  kind, 
warm,  generous  hearts,  and  any  woman  may  prove  her 
self  a  true  missionary  in  training  them  for  usefulness 
here  and  happiness  hereafter 


{0  mjj 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  FRENCH  OF  BERANGER. 

Thou  gallant  bark,  glide  swiftly  on, 

'Till  safely  moored  upon  the  strand, 
And  let  the  kindly  breeze  be  won 
To  waft  me  to  my  native  land  ! 
Oh  dear  to  me, 
My  own -countrie  ! 

With  beating  heart  and  bosom  throbbing  high, 
I  woo  the  gale, 

Eight  onward  sail, 

(176) 


RETURN  TO  MY    COUNTRY.  177 

And  on  thy  sacred  shores  return  to  die. 
But  hark  !  a  welcome  sound  for  me  ! 

"  Land  !  land  ahead  I"  falls  on  my  ear, 

And  hushed  is  every  gloomy  fear. 
All  hail  my  country,  peace  to  thee ! 


Oh,  yes,  it  is  my  native  shore ; 

The  port  its  fortress  proudly  rears, 
And,  near  the  cot  where  glided  o'er 
So  peacefully  my  infant  years. 
Oh  dear  to  me, 
My  own  countrie ! 

A  wanderer  long  through  many  a  distant  clime. 
The  village  green 
Again  is  seen, 

And  curling  wreaths  from  out  the  cottage  cime. 
The  heart  is  sad  that  turns  to  thee, 
For  there  a  mother  kindled  joy, 
And  gently  hushed  her  cradled  boy, 
All  hail  my  country,  peace  to  thee  ! 

Ungrateful  youth  !  I  fled  from  home, 

And  wafted  by  the  ocean  breeze, 
Through  fragrant  isles  went  forth  to  roam, 

Encircled  by  the  sparkling  seas. 


178  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

Oh  dear  to  me, 

My  own  countrie  ! 
Oh  would  were  mine  those  ever  beauteous  bowers, 

Crowned. all  the  year 

With  gala  gear, 

Anon  with  flowers  and  fruit,  and  fruit  and  flowers. 
But  then  I  longed  thy  cliffs  to  see, 

Would  dream  of  sterner  climes  more  clear. 
And  e'en  regret  thy  winter  drear, 
All  hail  my  country,  peace  to  thee  ! 


The  ties  of  love  and  friendship  dear 

Might  still  have  bound  me  to  thy  soil, 
And  treasures  rich  were  gathered  there, 
And  golden  gifts  unearned  by  toil. 
Oh  dear  to  me, 
My  own  countrie ! 

Far  more  I  love  thy  rugged  rocks  to  greet ! 
Though  wealth  were  mine, 
All  charms  were  thine, 

To  dwell  with  thee  inspires  a  joy  more  sweet. 
Though  dear  that  prairie  life  to  me  ; 
Thy  sun  alone  can  cheer  me  now, 
The  frosts  of  age  are  on  my  brow ; 
All  hail  my  country,  peace  to  thee ! 


RETURN  TO  MY   COUNTRY.  179 

'Mong  nature's  rude  unlettered  men, 

A  kingly  crown  they  made  me  wear, 
And  through  the  forest  glade  and  glen, 
I  bade  the  deadly  foe  beware ! 
Oh  dear  to  me, 
My  own  countrie ! 

Thy  fields  e'en  then  were  groaning  with  the  slain, 
And  victory's  wreath, 
Xor  honor's  breath 

Could  stifle  for  thy  woes  my  bosom's  pain ! 
Oh  what  were  India's  wealth  to  me ! 
Though  poor,  I  come  with  eagle  wing, 
The  badge  of  toil  is  all  I  bring, 
All  hail  my  country,  peace  to  thee ! 

And  now  adieu,  thou  billowy  sea, 

Thou  canst  no  more  with  foaming  wave, 
Restrain  the  boundings  of  the  free, 
The  restless  spirit  of  the  brave  ! 
Oh  dear  to  me, 
My  owrn  countrie  ! 

May  love  as  pure  inspire  each  patriot  son, 
And  now  once  more 
Upon  thy  shore, 


180  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

I  kiss  the  sod  so  dear  to  me. 
An  exile,  long,  I  seemed  a  foe, 
And  suffered  all  an  exile's  woe ! 

All  hail  my  country,  peace  to  thee  I 


OR   MARRYING    FOR  A  HOME. 


°  y°u  love  nim  ?"    "  No,  and  I  do  not  pretend 
to  love  him — I  have  told  him  a  thousand  times  I 
did  not  love  him." 

"  Then  why  do  you  marry  him  ?" 
""We  are  engaged,  and  I  cannot  meet  the  censure 
which  would  be  cast  upon  me  if  I  were  to  break  an  en 
gagement.     A  trifler,  a  flirt,  what  would  they  not  call 
me,  were  I  to  reject  him  now  ?"     . 

"  To  be  sure,  all  this  you  would  have  to  bear,  and  it 
should  seem  almost  insupportable  in  your  eyes,  but  is 

(181) 


182  THE    MYRTLE    WREATH. 

not  all  that  preferable  to  a  life,  a  long  life  of  such  misery 
as  is  the  certain  doom  of  marriage  without  love  ?" 

"  He  shall  never  know  that  I  do  not  love  him,  I  will 
be  kind  and  cheerful  and  make  him  happy.  I  know  I 
can  do  this." 

"  Oh,  Ellen,  little  do  you  know  what  you  are  under 
taking.  It  is  impossible  for  you  to  be  a  kind  and  duti 
ful  without  being  a  loving  wife.  There  exists  in  your 
case  a  repulsion  which  cannot  be  overcome ;  the  very 
effort  will  generate  hatred ;  you  will  become  hateful 
yourself,  and  fill  for  both  a  cup  of  misery  more  bitter 
than  any  other  the  world  has  to  offer.  I  beseech  you 
think  again  before  you  take  such  a  step.1' 

"  What  can  I  do  ?  I  cannot  live  here  always  ;  my 
father  is  not  able  to  support  me,  and  I  have  not  been 
educated  to  support  myself.  I  shall  be  an  "  old  maid  at 
home."  Oh,  mercy  !  anything  but  that.  Yes,  I  will 
marry  him.  I  shall  not  be  happy,  but  I  will  not  be  so 
miserable  as  you  predict." 

My  efforts  to  change  this  resolution  were  unavailing, 
and  in  four  weeks  Ellen  S was  a  bride. 

Oh,  that  Fathers  and  Mothers  would  provide  for  their 
daughters  some  refuge  from  such  a  doom  as  this.  Her 
father  was  not  able  to  support  her;  she  might  not  have 
another  offer ;  she  had  not  reared  in  luxury  and  none 
of  the  ordinary  occupations  of  woman  would  give  her  a 


MARRYING  FOR  A  HOME.  183 

position  congenial  to  her  taste,  orTemuneration  sufficient 
for  her  wants. 

God  endowed  her  with  talents  far  above  the  common 
order,  talents  which,  if  they  have  been  cultivated,  might 
have  won  for  her  a  fortune.  She  had  been  educated 
like  other  young  ladies,  had  studied  with  the  same  mo 
tives,  with  the  same  end  in  view.  She  did  not  need 
knowledge  to  gain  her  a  husband,  and  she  had  no  idea 
that  it  would  be  needed  to  gain  her  anything  else. 

While  yet  a  child  and  during  all  the  days  of  girl 
hood,  she  had  exulted  in  having  a  beau.  It  was  delight 
ful  to  have  some  one  always  ready  to  attend  her. 
Was  there  a  sleighride  in  winter,  she  knew  that  Wil 
liam  B would  invite  her ;  was  there  a  pic-nic  in 

summer,  there  was  no  danger  that  she  would  be  obliged 
to  stay  at  home.  She  was  young  and  gay  and  thought 
less,  and  whose  fault  was  it  that  she  thought  only  of  the 
present  and  prepared  not  for  the  future  ? 

Her  parents  thought  W a  "  good  match  "  for 

Ellen — his  father  was  rich ;  "  he  belonged  to  a  good 
family ;"  he  was  "  smart  for  business,"  and  though  a 
little  wild,  would  sober  down  when  he  was  fairly  mar 
ried,  and  make  a  "  good  provider "  and  "  kind  hus 
band," — a  good  enough  for  any  girl."  They  were 
pleased  with  the  hope  of  seeing  their  daughter,  only 
daughter  as  she  was,  do  so  well,  and  gave  him  their 
encouragement  and  approbation. 


1  84  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

But  Ellen  did  not  look  upon  it  so  seriously ;  she  liked 
his  attentions — she  accepted  his  presents,  scarcely  think 
ing  of  the  consequences.  He  loved  her,  and  she  knew 
it,  and  she  thought  she  liked  him  "  well  enough  " — if 
she  should  find  no  one  she  liked  better,  she  supposed 
they  would  some  day  be  married.  But  that  was  some 
thing  far  off  in  the  future ;  she  tried  not  to  dwell  upon 
it,  thinking  it  sufficient  to  enjoy  the  present. 

Those  who  looked  on  considered  it  a  settled  affair, 
and  the  village  gossips  said  "  it  would  be  shameful  if 
she  were  flirting  all  this  time,  but  they  should  not  won 
der  if  it  all  came  to  nothing."  Ellen,  though  not  hand 
some,  had  other  qualities  which  are  sure  to  excite  envy 
in  youthful  companions,  and  William  was  considered  by 
many  "  altogether  too  good  for  her."  And  she  liked 
very  well  to  defy  them  ;  so  she  rode,  and  walked,  and 
talked,  and  let  every  body  know  she  should  do  as  she 
pleased. 

While  she  was  walking  and  talking  and  making  her 
self  agreeable,  her  lover  was  believing  himself  beloved, 
and  trusting  that  his  attentions  would  not  be  received — 
feeling,  as  he  did,  that  they  could  not  be  misunder 
stood — unless  she  who  permitted  them  was  sincere. 
Therefore  he  too  considered  it  a  settled  affair,  long  be 
fore  Ellen  had  given  a  serious  thought  to  the  subject. 
When  she  was  rallied,  she  rallied  again,  and  went  gayly 
on  as  before. 


MARRYING  FOR  A  HOME.  185 

She  had  never  been  out  of  her  native  village — her 
heart  had  never  been  tried.  She  did  not  know  the 
meaning  of  love — would  that  she  had  never  learned! 

Neither  did  she  know  her  power,  and  I  trembled 
when  I  saw  her  transferred  from  her  quiet  home  to  the 
saloons  of  the  rich,  and  gay  and  cultivated. 

Very  soon  did  the  homage  which  she  received  make 
known  to  her  the  fascination  of  which  she  was  capable, 
and  I  cannot  say  that  she  was  entirely  above  yielding  to 
the  temptation  so  strong  to  woman,  of  winning  admira 
tion  for  admiration's  sake.  She  felt  that  she  had  no 
right  to  win  love — her  friends  had  seriously  warned 
her  before  she  went  forth  into  the  world,  that  her 
acceptance  of  "William  B.'s  attentions  so  long  was 
equivalent  to  an  engagement,  and  she  must  not  dream 
of  breaking  it. 

Byron  says  it  is  not  beauty  or  grace  in  woman  that 
is  most  sure  to  attract  and  secure  the  homage  of  man, 

"  What  we  want  is  animation," 

and  this  was  Ellen's  peculiar  charm.  The  fascination 
was  in  her  manners.  Intellect  flashed  in  her  eye  and 
the  soul  gleamed  in  every  expression  of  her  countenance. 
She  was  alive  with  glowing  thought,  and  original  and 
sparkling  in  her  conversation.  She  was  something  fresh 
and  new  in  the  circle  of  the  city,  and  by  the  many  who 


THE    MYRTLE  WREATH.  186 

could  appreciate  her  was-  -welcomed  as  the  life  of  a 
fashionable  soiree,  where  dullness  so  universally  reigns. 
For  a  long  time  it  is  admiration  alone  which  is  offered, 
and  though  it  is  lavished  upon  her,  and  though  she  is 
among  the  rich,  and  gay,  and  fashionable,  she  is  not 
seduced  from  her  simple  tastes.  Her  plain  white  dress 
is  not  exchanged  for  the  gaudy  plumage  of  the  fashion 
able,  and  her  brown  tresses  are  still  in  those  rich  classic 
braids  which  so  become  her  Grecian  head.  Flattery 
and  adulation  have  not  destroyed  her  love  of  the 
pure  and  true. 


Now  to  Ellen  the  hour  of  trial  has  come.  A  heart 
has  been  offered,  a  heart  that  beats  in  unison  writh  her 
own,  by  one  who  is  gifted  and  noble  and  cultivated — 
one  to  whom  she  can  look  up  as  her  superior — whom 
she  can  lean  upon  and  cling  to  with  a  true  woman's  per 
fect  trust. 

True  love  is  not  a  fancy — not  a  dream ;  but  a  reality, 
a  beautiful  reality  indeed,  but  not  the  less  a  reality,  and 
the  most  refining  and  exalting  of  all  earthly  influences 
upon  the  human  heart  and  soul.  Like  all  other  precious 
metals  it  has  many  counterfeits,  and  it  is  these  which 
give  the  false  impression  concerning  the  genuine  coin. 

There  are  many,  very  many,  who  go  all  the  way 
through  life,  without  learning  its- value,  without  any  con- 


MARRYING  FOR  A  HOME.  187 

ceptlon  of  its  meaning.  Some  because  they  are  not  capa 
ble  of  it — whose  natures  are  too  coarse  to  become  a 
dwelling  place  for  aught  so  delicate  and  pure,  and  many 
because  the  life  links  are  formed,  ere  the  heart  has  learn 
ed  its  necessities,  and  then  marriage  and  its  duties  and 
seclusion  kindly  shield  them  from  communion  with  those, 
who  might  have  inspired  the  true  love,  which  become 
like  burning  lava  in  the  bosom,  where  it  must  be  smo 
thered  and  concealed,  especially  where  it  would  be  sin 
to  indulge  it. 

In  Ellen's  bosom  there  is  a  fierce  struggle.  She  has 
learned  to  look  upon  her  obligations  to  W — ,  as  amount 
ing  to  an  engagement,  and  the  consequences  of  annull 
ing  it  she  knows  too  well.  Her  friends  would  consider 
it  unpardonable,  and  he  to  whom  she  is  thus  bound 
would  be  desperate.  But  now  that  she  has  learned  the 
nature  of  such  a  tie,  and  learned  the  love  of  which  she 
is  capable,  and  without  which  she  must  be  wretched, 
she  revolts  from  the  crime  of  giving  her  hand  where  her 
heart  can  never  go. 

She  thinks  she  would  willingly  relinquish  the  hope  of 
happiness  if  she  could  be  released  from  the  certainty  of 
misery.  She  has  but  just  begun  to  pass  through  the 
ordeal  which  is  preparing  for  her,  and  has  yet  learned 
nothing  of  temptation  and  trial. 

Many  weeks  Ellen  has  passed  in  almost  daily  inter 
course  with  her  new  friend.  She  has  become  intoxicated 


188  THE   MYRTLE  WREATH. 

with  happiness,  has  forgotten  her  only  vows,  the  warn 
ings  of  friends,  and  given  herself  up  to  the  absorbing  in 
terest  of  her  new  life,  leaving  the  past  and  the  future 
to  take  care  of  themselves.  Admiration  has  no  longer 
any  charms  for  her ;  she  is  a  true  woman,  and  the  devo 
tion  of  one  heart  is  worth  more  to  her  than  the  homage 
of  a  world. 

They  have  talked  of  their  own  hopes  and  their  own 
future,  and  Ellen  has  faithfully  revealed  to  Eugene  the 
folly  of  her  early  betrothal,  and  he  of  course  assures  her 
that  her  love  for  hirn  severs  all  other  bonds.  She  sits 
hour  after  hour  with  her  hand  clasped  in  his,  feeling 
how  sweet  it  is  to  give  up  self  with  a  perfect  love  and 
trust,  and  has  no  fear. 

She  has  asked  no  advice  and  spoken  of  her  love  to  no 
friend.  Often  she  sits  down  to  write  to  W — ,  arid  tell 
him  all,  but  words  will  not  come  to  her  relief,  and  she 
throws  the  pen  from  her,  trying  to  think  it  is  of  no  great 
consequence;  at  least  she  had  rather  speak  it  with  her 
lips — when  she  sees  him  she  will  frankly  tell  him  all. 

But  the  home  of  Eugene  is  far  away  in  the  sunny 
South,  and  he  must  return  to  it  and  leave  Ellen  alone 
awhile,  for  it  is  indeed  to  dwell  alone,  where  there  are 
none  to  understand  the  heart.  She  has  given  up  the 
world — why  is  it  that  its  pleasures  are  so  palling  to  her 
now  ?  She  sought  excitement  and  change  when  she 
was  en^a<>-ed  to  William  B :  Ah,  the  heart  was  not 


MARRYING  FOR  A  HOME.  189 

at  rest;  and  it  is  always  so — a  wandering  woman  has 
ever  a  wandering  heart !  She.  may  be  married  or  betro 
thed,  but  if  her  heart  has  found  a  home  she  will  ask  no 
more  of  earthly  happiness.  It  will  make  no  difference  to 
her  whether  her  house  be  palace  or  cottage — whether  it 
be  in  city  or  country,  in  the  fertile  valley,  or  the  wilder 
ness, — some  of  these  things  may  be  necessary  to  her 
health  or  physical  comfort,  but  not  to  her  happiness.  The 
heart  of  the  wife  who  is  ever  wishing  to  roam,  ever  rest 
less  for  some  new  thing,  some  scene  of  excitement,  is  not 
in  her  home,  and  her  affections  are  not  her  husband's  ! 
She  has  married  him  for  protection,  or  shelter,  or  be 
cause  "  there  was  no  other  way." 

How  instantly  will  a  true  love  transform  a  woman  ; 
and  if  women  were  not  obliged  to  marry  till  this  alone 
induced  them,  homes  at  least,  would  be  exempt  from 
misery.  Sorrow  and  affliction  might  visit  them,  but 
wretchedness  would  be  ever  a  stranger.  He  who  com 
plains  that  discord  and  darkness  are  the  inmates  of  his 
dwelling,  need  not  ask  the  cause  !  Love  has  never  taken 
up  his  abode  there. 


Ellen  is  alone  and  cares  not  for  companionships.  The 
world  has  no  temptations  or  seductions   which   would 


190  THE    MYRTLE  WKiiATH. 

•A 

have  power  to  allure  her  now.  She  has  plenty  of  food 
for  thought,  is  quiet  and  content. 

Eugene  departed  on  board  the  steamer  13 ,  and 

listen  to  the  sacrifice  he  has  made  for  such  a  bride.  He 
will  part  with  the  home  of  his  childhood  and  relinquish 
a  life  of  ease — to  a  hundred  slaves  he  will  give  their 
freedom  and  commence  a  life  of  toil — he  will  leave  all 
that  is  dear  to  him  from  early  associations,  and  boy 
hood's  dreams,  come  to  a  strange  land  and  struggle  for 
independence,  because  it  seems  to  a  fair  young  girl,  a 
more  noble  and  more '  manly  life  ! 

Is  not  love  stronger  than  ambition — is  it  not  holier 
too? 


A  few  days  have  passed  and  there  come  rumors  of  a 
fearful  storm  at  sea.  It  is  said  vessels  must  be  lost  that 
were  far  out,  and  Ellen  knows  that  Eugene  could  not 
have  reached  the  port,  ere  the  tempest  swept  over  the 
waters.  Day  after  day  she  listens,  but  "  there  are  no 
tidings" — day  after  day  she  takes  the  papers  to  her 
room  to  search  with  aching  heart  and  streaming  eyes 
for  one  dear  name;  but  it  is  in  vain.  No  messenger 
ever  returned  from  the  silent  deep  to  the  bosoms  which 


MARRYING  FOR  A  HOME.  191 

were  rent  with  -anguish.  All  went  down  in  the  dark 
ness. 

For  Ellen  there  is  no  sympathy,  for  none  had  listened 
to  the  parting  words  which  were  so  sweet  to  her,  and 
her  secret  is  still  in  her  own  bosom.  In  this  there  is 
consolation  too,  for  now  she  will  hear  no  more  re 
proaches  for  her  fickleness,  no  condemnation  for  her  in 
fidelity. 

She  is  pale  and  sad,  but  no  one  divines  the  cause,  and 
now  again  excitement  becomes  necessary  to  drown 
thought  and  satisfy  her  craving  nature.  She  dreads  to 
leave  the  city  and  its  busy  scenes  for  the  quiet  of  her 
country  home,  but  the  spring  has  come  and  she  has  no 
excuse  for  remaining. 


"  Ellen  S has  returned,"  say  the  village  gossips, 

11  and  it  is  just  as  I  told  you.  William  B is  not 

grand  enough  for  her  now,  with  her  new-fangled  city 
notions.  She  hardly  speaks  to  him,  I  presume  she  has 
a  new  beau — well,  no  good  will  come  of  it — a  girl,  who 
flirts  as  she  has  done,  will  be  paid  for  it." 

She  is  indeed  cold  to  her  old  lover,  but  she  has  told 
him  the  cause— her  heart  is  bruised,  and  freely  does  she 
talk  of  the  sin  of  her  thoughtless  engagement,  when  she 


192  THE   MYRTLE  WREATH. 

felt  scarcely  a  common  interest  for  him  with  whom  she 
was  planning  to  spend  a  life.  He  listens  in  astonishment, 
for  though  he  had  not  heard  from  her  often,  it  was  not 
many  weeks  since  he  had  received  a  letter,  with  no 
change  visible  upon  its  pages.  She  had  never  written 
him  love  letters  to  be  sure,  she  had  never  expressed  what 
she  never  felt,  but  she  had  written  kindly.  Yet 
there  was  great  wrong  in  the  course  she  pursued. 
There  was  always  a  faintly  defined  purpose  in  her  heart 
to  keep  up  the  correspondence  no  longer  than  whilst  she 
was  not  better  pleased  elsewhere.  She  did  not  ac 
knowledge  this  to  herself  then,  and  a  still  greater  wrong 
it  was  for  her  not  to  tell  him  the  truth  when  her  heart 
was  given  to  another.  It  was  a  double  betrothal,  but 
she  did  not  look  upon  it  in  this  light 

"W" has  never  ceased  to  love  her,  and  forgiveness 

is  very  easy  towards  those  we  love.  He  feels  sure  that 
he  possessed  her  first  affection,  and  that  the  second  was 
only  a  fancy,  which  she  would  not  have  indulged  had 
he  been  present,  and  from  which  she  will  soon  recover. 

Their  friendship  is  renewed,  and  she  listens  again  to 
the  words  of  his  deeper  interest.  Ellen  is  alone  with 
nothing  to  do.  Friends  cannot  understand  any  cause 
of  sadness,  nor  why  William  should  be  rejected.  She 
begins  to  look  forward  into  life  and  think,  "  Oh  how  can 
I  live  through  all  the  long  weary  years  alone  ?"  The 
world  considers  her  engaged,  and  he  who  woos  her  is 


MARRYING  FOR  A  HOME. 

kind.  She  again  has  some  one  to  attend  her,  and  the 
monotony  of  her  life  is  varied  by  his  calls,  their  rides 
and  walks,  and  the  restlessness,  the  longing  for  some 
thing  to  fill  the  aching  void  is  pacified,  though  not  sub 
dued. 

She  tells  him  she  cannot  love  him  as  a  woman  loves 
a  husband,  but  this  he  does  not  understand  and  does 
not  like  to  hear.  She  thinks  she  can  never  truly  love 
another,  and  does  not  think  that  for  this  reason  she 
should  never  marry  at  all.  She  has  little  idea  of  what 
will  be  required  of  her  as  a  wife,  and  does  not  shrink  as 
she  should  from  the  responsibilities  she  is  assuming. 

At  length  the  vows  are  exchanged  and  she  is  again 
betrothed.  She  is  betrothed !  and  those  around  her 
wonder  that  she  is  not  blithe  and  gay  with  all  the  hope 
and  happiness  of  a  glad  young  heart.  She  endeavors  to 
hide  her  indifference,  and  to  seem  what  she  is  not,  and 
the  effort  only  increases  the  repulsion.  Day  after  day 
she  meets  the  man  with  whom  she  is  to  spend  a  life,  and 
dreads  the  meeting !  Day  after  day  he  takes  her  hand 
and  presses  a  kiss  upon  her  cheek,  and  she  recoils  with 
a  shudder ! 

And  this  is  he  whom  she  is  to  promise  to  love  and 
honor  and  obey  !     This   is  he  to  whom  she  is  to  prove 
a  dutiful  and  loving  wife  !  whom  she  is  to  nurse  in  sick 
ness  and  soothe  in  sorrow — with  whom  she  is  to  share 
9 


194    '  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

prosperity  and  adversity,  and  whom  "  she  is  to  love 
through  all  things."  Oh  mockery  !  How  many  a  woman's 
lips  have  uttered  those  false  vows.  How  many  a  heart 
has  felt  that  it  was  given  up  to  a  life  of  perjury  ! 

To  Ellen  the  reality  now  comes  up  with  all  a  reality's 
vividness,  and  the  bitter  draught  has  grown  more  bitter 
still.  Yet  what  shall  she  do  ?  What  else  is  there  in 
life  for  her  ? 

Some  one  is  ready  to  exclaim,  "  dependence,  beggary, 
anything  rather  than  thus  to  degrade  herself."  Ah 
yes,  this  is  often  and  easily  said,  and  would  that  there 
were  more  to  act  in  accordance  with  such  a  spirit. 

Earnestly  did  I  remonstrate,  "  Oh  what  will  life  be 
in  constant  communion  with  one  whose  conversaation, 
even  one  hour's  conversation,  already  palls?  Ellen,  I 
beseech  you  not  to  do  this  thing — now  before  it  is  too 
late,  break  the  oppressive  chain  that  binds  you  to.  so 
galling  a  servitude.  Go  back — brave  the  scorn  of  the 
world  and  endure  reproach  and  heartless  raillery,  it  will 
be  a  pleasant  and  flowery  path  compared  to  the  one 
upon  which  you  are  entering." 

Then  came  the  answer,  which  was  not  hers  only,  but 
the  answer  which  I  have  heard  from  so  many,  many 
lips. 

"  What  can  I  do.  Oh,  would  that  there  were  some 
refuge  for  disappointed  and  desolate  woman — some 
position  whicb  she  could  occupy  with  honor  and  useful- 


MARRYING  FOR  A  HOME.  195 

ness — some  employment  which  would  give  her  indepen 
dence  and  absorbing  interest.  How  can  I  sit  down  here 
idle  to  eat  the  bread  of  those  who  will  be  continually 
reproaching  me  for  not  accepting  an  offer  which 
promised  me  all  I  ought  to  ask  or  hope.  No,  I  will 
marry  him,  and  he  shall  never  know  that  I  am  not 
happy." 

Four  weeks  from  that  day  Ellen  S was  a  bride. 

There  were  no  festivities  upon  the  occasion.  These 
would  have  jarred  .upon  her  feelings,  and  increased  her 
despondency.  The  orange  wreath  was  in  her  hair, 
and  the  bridal  dress  was  fitting  one  for  such  a  bride, 
and  her  exuberant  spirits  were  proof  to  others  of  her 
happiness.  But  I  had  been  permitted  to  look  deeper, 
and  knew  her  gaiety  was  but  seeming. 

There  was  a  bridal  tour,  and  I  knew  no  more  of  Ellen 
for  four  long  years.  A  new  life  and  many  journeyings 
on  my  part  prevented  our  meeting,  and  not  once  in  all 
the  time  did  I  hear  from  her,  so  I  could  not  judge 
whether  my  predictions  had  been  verified  ;  and  when 
I  enquired  concerning  her  I  heard  that  she  was  happy, 
at  least  that  she  was  brilliant  and  very  gay. 

Four  years  had  passed  away  when  we  met.  Oh  what 
a  welcome  was  that  which  a  warm  heart  gave  to  one 
before  whom  the  veil  of  seeming  could  be  torn  away, 
and  to  whom  the  flood-gates  which  had  so  long  pent  up 
the  fou nt  of  feeling  could  be  thrown  open.  "Whatever 


1(JG  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

Ellen  had  suffered,  it  hud  not  changed  her  heart,  and 
indeed,  neither  time  nor  suffering  had  left  any  percepti 
ble  footprints  upon  her  brow,  or  cheek,  and  they  had 
not  dimmed  the  lustre  of  her  eye.  She  was  not  less 
brilliant  and  fascinating  than  in  the  days  of  girlhood, 
but  there  was  a  more  terrible  restlessness,  and  I  had  not 
gazed  long  before  I  saw  that  she  was  wretched  beyond 
all  that  I  had  ever  dreamed  of  wretchedness. 

The  wife  had  learned  how  irksome,  how  impossible 
are  love's  duties  where  love  is  not,  and  the  husband  had 
learned  to  hate  one  whom  duty  alone  prompted  to  kind 
ness.  In  not  one  thing  had  they  similar  tastes, — there 
was  not  a  single  subject  upon  which  they  could  con 
verse  with  pleasure.  He  talked  of  news  and  "  stocks" 
or  horses,  till  she  yawned  or  turned  away  with  disgust. 
He  smoked  and  chewed  and  swore,  and  she  shrunk  with 
loathing. 

Her  love  of  books  and  pictures  and  refined  society 
was  equally  incomprehensible  to  him,  and  so  wider  and 
wider  grew  the  distance  between  the  paths  they  chose. 
He  was  a  stranger  in  the  circles  in  which  she  delighted 
to  move,  and  she  could  not  for  an  hour  tolerate  the 
ribald  jests  of  his  boon  companions.  She  is  sought  by 
those  who  could  appreciate  her,  and  he  looks  with  a 
jealous  eye  upon  the  marks  of  homage  which  she  re 
ceives.  Knowing  that  she  does  not  love  him  he  accuses 


MARRYING  FOR  A  HOME.  J  97 

her  of  intrigue  and  infidelity,  and  Oh  !  the  bitter  curses 
he  heaps  upon  her  ! 

Hour  after  hour  and  day  after  day  she  sits  utterly 
paralized  by  the  sense  of  her  misery  and  humiliation, 
with  not  a  glance  of  hope  to  brighten  the  years  to  which 
she  must  look  forward  to  make  up  for  her  the  sum  of 
life. 

Night  after  night  she  is  alone,  and  the  morning's 
dawn  still  finds  her  watching.  She  does  not  dare  to 
sleep,  for  any  moment  she  may  be  awakened  by  oaths 
which  curdle  her  blood,  and  he  who  utters  them  has 
ceased  to  wear  even  the  mask  of  human  feeling — his 
hatred  has  become  fearful,  and  when  returned  from  a 
drunken  revel  there  is  nothing  to  curb  his  revengeful 
anger,  if  she  is  not  ready  to  minister  to  his  wants  and 
listen  patiently  to  his  withering  words. 

Meekly  she  moves  about,  and  slowly  smooths  the 
pillow  for  his  restless  slumber,  yet  full  well  he  knows 
that  love  does  not  lend  alacrity  to  her  footsteps,  nor  its 
own  sunny  hue  to  her  smile. 

"  How  is  it  possible  you  live,"  asked  I,  "  how  is  it 
possible  to  bear  up,  to  walk  about,  with  such  a  weight 
upon  you,"  for  I  was  astonished  every  little  while 
during  the  time  which  we  were  together,  to  see  her  al 
most  instantly  assume  her  air  of  careless  gaiety,  when 
acquaintances  called,  to  hear  her  talk  and  play  and  sing 
as  if  she  were  a  very  bird  in  freedom  and  blithesomeness 


198  TIIK    MYRTLE    WREATH. 

and  the  moment  we  were  alone,  sink  as  if  a  millstone 
were  crushing  her.  How  is  it  possible  for  you  to 
do  it  ?" 

Then  came  that  woman's  reason^  for  so  many  of  the 
unaccountable  martyrdoms  which  she  endures,  Pride  ! 
"  I  am  too  proud  to  seem  unhappy.  What  a  by-word 
I  should  soon  be,  were  I  to  permit  the  world  to  look  in 
upon  me  as  you  do.  No,  the  world  shall  never  triumph 
over  me.  I  will  suffer  even  to  the  end,  and  go  down 
to  the  grave  unpitied.  Whilst  I  suffer  alone  I  can  bear 
anything,  but  were  I  to  become  the  object  of  pity  and 
triumph  I  should  lose  my  reason." 

Alas,  if  she  could  have  looked  forward  and  seen  what 
she  must  yet  pass  through,  reason  might  have  reeled  at 
the  prospect,  but  the  heart  has  an  inconceivable  capa 
city  for  resisting  the  heavy  pressure  of  woe. 

We  parted  once  more,  and  not  again  did  I  see  her 
till  the  world  knew  more  than  I  had  ever  learned  of 
Ellen's  calamities,  and  rumor  with  her  hundred,  her- 
myriad  tongues,  had  exaggerated  them  a  thousand  fold. 
Now,  thought  I,  she  will  surely  die.  But  she  did  not. 

How  she  dreaded  a  life  of  loneliness  and  shrunk  from 
a  life  of  dependence,  yet  there  she  is,  alone  and  depen 
dent  !  She  is  widowed  yet  her  husband  is  alive — he  is 
rich  yet  she  is  poor.  She  married  for  a  home  and  yet 
is  homeless ! 

Now  indeed  has  gossip  found  something  to  feed  upon 


MARRYING  FOR  A  HOME.  199 

and  how  she  gloats  upon  the  miseries  of  her  victim. 
Ellen  is  at  first  paralized,  then  subdued.  These  are  the 
words  which  anguish  forced  from  her  heart,  "  Oh  mer 
ciful  that  all  are  not  called  to  suffer  alike  in  this  world, 
for  then  there  would  be  only  one  universal  wail  of 
anguish."  Then  she  calls  it  a  stroke  of  her  Heavenly 
Father's  rod,  and  talks  of  submission  to  the  will  of  Hea 
ven.  But  il  seems  almost  blasphemy, to  call  this  a  dis 
pensation  of  Providence.  She  had  disobeyed  a  specific 
law — she  had  done  it  voluntarily,  deliberately,  and  dis 
obedience  brought  its  own  punishment.  There  are 
afflictions  which  God  sends,  but  from  misery  like  this 
he  especially  ordained  that  man  should  be  free. 

"When  God  banished  Adatn  and  Eve  from  Paradise, 
and  decreed  that  they  should  "  earn  their  bread  by  the 
sweat  of  their  brows,"  he  left  them  this  one  great 
blessing — to  love  one  another  ! 

To  Ellen  it  is  plain  now  that  she  committed  a  crime  not 
less  heinous,  than  one  the  world  brands  with  a  darker 
name,  when  she  uttered  those  solemn  vows  to  which  her 
lips  alone  could  give  assent.  They  were  not  holy  in 
the  sight  of  Heaven. 

It  was  a  wrong  to  herself,  a  wrong  to  him  to  whom 
she  pledged  a  love  she  did  nnt  feel,  and  when  he  found 
that  she  was  false  he  hated  her.  He  had  expected  a 
wife,  a  companion,  and  he  was  disappointed,  and  when 
he  found  the  smile  of  love  would  never  brighten  his 


200     '  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

fireside,  he  fled  from  it  and  sought  compensation  in 
scenes  of  revelry  and  haunts  of  vice.  The  steps  are 
few  and  easy  from  wretchedness  to  desperation — from 
desperation  to  crime,  and  when  there  is  no  religious 
principle  to  restrain,  the  last  is  almost  certain  to  follow 
the  first. 

William  B sank  to  rise  no  more,  and  I  will  not 

become  apologist  for  his  sin,  but  it  was  not  he  alone 
who  deserved  condemnation. 

The  beauty  of  this  love  which  God  gave  to  unite  two 
in  companionship  for  life,  is.  that  it  is  so  free  from  the 
dross  of  selfishness,  so  disinterested  and  self-sacrificing. 
What  toil  is  not  sweet  to  one  who  is  dearer  than  self? 
However  dark  the  shadows  which  may  fall  upon  a 
household,  if  this  pure  ray  is  beaming  there,  it  will 
never  become  all  darkness. 

Where  true  love  once  exists,  it  will  continue  to  burn 
brighter  and  brighter,  and  were  it  the  basis  of  every  life 
bond,  the  cement  of  every  union,  it  would  form  indis 
soluble  knots,  and  there  would  not  be  so  many  broken 
links  scattered  through  the  world ! 


Same  Mitto  ®I0ui     1      !n 


M 


Y  friends,  dear  readers,  are  the  "  first  people  in 
the  City,"  and  so  of  course  we  "attend  the  first 
Church."  You  know  better  than  I  can  tell  you  what  it 
is  that  constitutes  the  "  first  people"  and  the  "  first 
Church."  The  building  itself  is  a  mass  of  free-stone, 
granite  and  marble,  put  together  in  such  a  way  as  to 
cost  as  much  as  possible.  The  interior  is  frescoed  and 
furbelowed  to  make  it  attractive  to  the  senses,  and  the 
windows  are  filled  with  angels,  cupids,  and  bows  and 

arrows,  and  birds,  to  prevent  drowsy  people  from  sleep 
9*  (201) 


202  THE    MYRTLE  WREATH. 

ing,  for  it  is  no  part  of  the  minister's  business  to  keep 
them  awake. 

The  deep-toned  bell  peals  on  the  air,  and  lo !  are 
gathered  together  a  congregation,  as  it  is  called,  which 
might  be  mistaken  for  walking  bales  of  broadcloth, 
velvet  and  satin,  which  the  shops  had  sent  forth  for 
advertisements,  covered  with  garlands  of  ribbons,  and 
feathers  and  flowers. 

Our  minister,  or  pastor,  or  preacher,  is  Dr.  Prim. 
His  coat  fits  so  nicely  that*you  would  riot  think  it 
possible  that  it  had  ever  been  put  off  or  on,  and  the  tie 
of  his  cravat  is  the  perfection  of  a  "  square  knot." 
(How  long  and  assiduously  he  must  have  practiced  to 
attain  unto  such  perfection  !)  How  slowly  and  solemnly 
he  walks  up  the  aisle,— what  a  reverential  glance  upward 
Lind  around  las  he  seats  himself  on  a  gorgeous  sofa; 
what  a  perfectly  satisfied  air  as  he  turns  the  leaves  of 
«  gilt  and  yellow-covered  "  Bible  ! 

I  gaze  awhile,  and  if  his  lips  did  not  move  I  should 
think  he  were  a  statue ;  and  if  I  did  not  see  so  many 
people  nodding,  I  should  think  they  were  all  statues 
around  him.  Strange  that  they  can  be  so  wicked  ;  and 
yet  I  confess  if  I  were  not  so  amused  looking  at  stained 
windows,  frescoed  walls,  and  fine  dresses,  I  should  be 
noddin-  too.  Sorry  I  am  to  be  obliged  to  make  this 
confession,  but  I  thought  perhaps  it  would  relieve  my 
conscience.  Every  little  while.  I  start  up,  determined 


SOME  WICKED  THOUGHTS  I  HAD  IN  CHURCH.    203 

to  listen,  and  every  little  while  somebody  else  within 
the  circle  of  my  vision  starts  up  with  the  same  reso 
lution. 

It  is  a  "  good  discourse,"  "  well  indoctrinated,"  to 
which  there  can  be  no  possible  objection,  It  is  deliver 
ed  in-  a  tone  which  must  be  proper,  as  it  never  varies, 
and  all  the  gestures  have  been  perfected  and  sanctioned 
by  twenty  years  of  trial — so  how  can  they  be  lacking  ? 

Now  I  ought  to  listen,  and  I  will — and  for  five  min. 
utes  I  succeed,  and  then  find  myself  busy  again  with  the 
lights  and  shades  on  the  wall,  and  especially  with  the 
reflections  of  the  stained  windows.  How  funny  that  man 
looks  with  light  blue  hair,  and  that  other  man  with 
deep  orange  whiskers.  (But  I  must  listen,  and  I  will. 
How  wicked  I  am.)  What  a  perfect  imitation  thoso 
columns  and  arches  are  of  real  colunms  and  arches. 
What  rich  hangings.  But  those  little  cupids,  how  cun 
ning  they  look.  (Dear  me,  I  have  not  listened — now  I 
will  listen.)  How  many  people  there  are  asleep — one 
two,  three,  twenty — what  wicked  people ;  under  such 
preaching,  too — the  celebrated  Dr.  Prim — so  learned — 
a  great  theologian  ;  besides  he  is  preaching  the  doc 
trine  of— not  of  salvation — everybody  knows  the  impor 
tance  of  this — but  of  some  other  ation — I  have  not  yet 
listened  long  enough  to  tell  what ;  but  everybody  should 
believe  just  as  he  does;  "it  is  vastly  important." 

But,  now  he  is  through,  what  an  electric  shock  is 


204  THE   MYRTLE  WREATH. 

given  to  all  these  satins  and  velvets  !  There  mnst  be 
souls  underneath,  after  all — and  if  the  preacher  gave 
any  indication  of  possessing  a  soul  himself,  I  think  he 
might  influence  them.  But  I  presume  it  would  be  inde 
corous.  The  first  people  and  the  "  first  church  "  must 
maintain  their  reputation.  This  is  not  the  place  for 
"the  poor  to  hear  the  Gospel  preached."  Oh  !  no — how 
out  of  place  a  poor  person  would  look  here  !  It  is  the 
place  for  the  rich  to  vie  with  each  other  in  decorating 
walls  and  dressing,  and  then  to  take  a  comfortable  snooze. 
It  is  very  wicked  not  to  have  my  heart  and  soul  alive 
with  enthusiasm  in  the  House  of  God.  Whatever  the 
minister  may  be,  is  no  excuse  for  my  apathy.  Dear 
reader,  I  know  it.  This  is  just  what  I  am  confessing 
— how  wicked  I  am  ! 

But  this  afternoon  I  went  where  the  canopy  was  the 
blue  sky,  and  the  walls  were  the  hills  and  trees  which 
God  himself  made.  The  preacher  had  never  heard  of 
Theology,  but  he  had  learned  Christ  and  Him  crucified, 
and  I  could  not  help  thinking  was  a  true  representation 
of  Him  who  preached  •  by  the  wayside  and  on  the  sea. 
There  was  no  trying  to  listen,  for  all  who  were  present 
"  heard  the  Word  gladly,"  and  sure  I  am  that  the  good 
seed  sank  deep  into  their  hearts,  and  will  bring  forth 
fruit  to  the  glory  of  God. 

Would  there  were  more  to  "  go  and  do  likewise,"  and 


WICKED  THOUGHTS  I  HAD  IN  CHURCH.  205 

not  till  then  will  there  be  a  tl  shaking  among  the  dry 
bones  "  in  this  iniquitous.  City — and  not  till  then  will  the 
multitudes  turn  unto  God. 


FAR  differently  "  Thanksgiving  day," 
"Was  welcomed  in  my  childhood's  years, 

When  sound  of  mirth  and  gladsome  play, 
Burst  forth  from  hearts  unchilled  by  fears 

When  every  lip  was  wreathed  with  smiles, 
And  clustered  on  each  sunny  brow, 

The  dawning  hopes  which  youth  beguiles 
And  sweetly  beamed  affection's  glow 

(206) 


THANKSGIVING.  207 

No  shadow  crossed  our  fancy's  gleams, 

Nor  mist  obscured  our  golden  sky, 
No  sadness  troubled  life's  young  dreams, 

No  cloud  of  sorrow  flitted  by. 


Where  are  they  now — those  joyous  ones 
That  erst  were  wont  to  circle  here, 

The  happy  looks  and  kindly  tones 

Which  gave  the  board  its  brightest  cheer  ? 

Ah  !  time  with  rapid  flight  hath  passed, 
The  houshold  group  is  scattered  wide ; 

Our  youthful  sports^and  pleasures  fast 
Have  floated  down  life's  ebbing  tide. 


But  though  in  months  and  years  grown  old, 
And  doomed  diverging  paths  to  roam, 

Will  absence  make  the  heart  grow  cold, 
Or  chill  the  gushing  fount  of  love  ? 

Oh  no,  with  fond  imaginings 

They'll  linger  near  the  spot  once  more, 
And  swiftly  borne  on  memory's  wings, 

Will  live  again  their  pastimes  o'er. 


208  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

Yes,  thought  unchanged,  will  quickly  roam, 
And  gladly  hail  this  hallowed  day, 

Dear  absent  ones  will  think  of  home, 
And  we  of  loved  ones,  far  away. 


Oh  may  we  meet  once  more  around 
The  hearthstone  of  our  early  years, 

If  but  to  breathe  each  farewell  sound, 
And  mingle  here  our  parting  tears. 


at 


THE  fountains,  the  fountains,  are  they  not  beautiful, 
are  they  not  poetical  ?  Surely  he  must  have  been 
a  poet  who  designed  the  fountains !  They  are  often 
compared  to  showers  of  diamonds,  but  no  motive  power 
could  give  to  millions  of  diamonds  and  rubies,  the  beauty 
and  grace  of  the  water-drop's  dance. 

How  delightful  to  turn  aside  from  the  dusty  street, 
the  hurry  and  bustle  of  the  busy  throng,  to  refresh, 
not  the  body,  but  the  soul  at  the  fountains.  It  is  ele 
vating,  ennobling,  to  gaze  on  beauty.  It  is  everywhere 

(209) 


210  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

diffused  in  the  works  of  nature,  and  the  eye  which  does 
not  discover  it,  and  revel  in  it,  is  itself  without  bright 
ness,  and  the  soul  which  is  not  expanded  by  the  moun 
tain  in  its  lofty  grandeur,  and  made  gentle  by  the  soft 
features  of  the  quiet  landscape,  must  be  dead  to  every 
noble  impulse. 

The  parks  are  the  oases  in  the  desert  of  city  life,  and 
the  promoting  of  physical  health  is  but  a  small  item  in 
the  amount  of  good  which  they  accomplish.  How  many 
thousands  of  hearts  are  gladdened  by  the  daily  sight 
of  something  fresh,  and  cool,  and  bright.  Here  the 
zephyr  comes  like  a  ministering  angel  to  fan  the  fevered 
brow,  and  the  music  of  waters  charms  the  weary  spirit 
and  bears  away  its  burden. 

In  the  early  morning  I  often  meet  a  young  maiden, 
who  seems  to  come  to  gather  strength  for  her  day  of 
toil,  or  a  lone  student,  his  face  "sicklied  o'er  with  the 
pale  cast  of  thought,"  inhaling  its  freshness,  and  with 
that  freshness  inspiration. 

At  noon  there  is  a  motley  crowd  of  all  ages  and  con 
ditions,  but  there  is  never  rudeness,  nor  even  levity, 
within  the  charmed  circle  of  the  water  spirits.  Coun 
tenances  which  look  morose  and  haggard  as  they  ap 
proach,  brighten  as  they  linger,  and  depart  gilded  with 
the  sunshine  of  cheerfulness.  In  the  evening,  two  and 
two  they  wander  by,  or  gather  in  little  groups,  and  upon 
all,  the  same  healthy  and  life-giving  influence  is  shed. 


THE    CROTON  FOUNTAIN.  211 

A  blessing  upon  those  who  turned  the  Croton  from 
its  channel  and  bid  it  bless  so  many  thousand  and  ten 
thousand  homes,  and  still  stop  by  the  wayside  to  dim 
ple  and  sparkle,  and  gleam,  for  the  millions  more  whose 
spirits  are  thereby  purified  from  the  dross  of  care,  and 
pinioned  anew  for  the  conflict  of  life. 


41  j%  is  a  |M$0ttaWi  M0iMit,  ani  mwM  mrt  to  he 

f\/\fV  •       W        *  *  U 


"0  performs  the  duties  of  wife  and  mother  and 
house  keeper  in  the  home  of  the  woman  of  fash 
ion  ?  Why,  Margaret  and  Mary  and  Jane,  who  have 
been  hired  for  that  purpose.  Who  washes  and  dresses 
that  little  boy  and  curls  his  glossy  ringlets  ?  His 
mother  ?  Oh,  no,  this  would  not  be  genteel,  and  there 
fore  it  is  left  to  a  servant.  Who  teaches  him  to  read, 
and  talks  with  him  of  all  the  beautiful  things  which 
God  has  made  ?  His  mother  ?  Oh,  no,  she  has  not 

time   for  such  duties.     She  is  out  "  airing"  or  prome- 

(212) 


SHE  IS  A  FASHIONABLE  WOMAN-  2J  3 

nading,  or  shopping  or  attending  the  "  receptions  "  of 
her  friends. 

Who  puts  him  to  bed  and  hears  him  lisp  his  evening 
prayers  ?  "  Why  Margaret, — this  is  her  business,  she 
is  paid  for  it."  His  mother  is  at  the  ball  or  opera,  or 
some  evening  entertainment.  Every  morning  he  is 
brought  to  kiss  her,  and  every  evening,  if  she  is  at  home, 
to  say  good  night.  Is  not  this  enough  ? 

This  is  the  colloquy  I  have  often  heard  in  that  house. 
"  Whom  do  you  love  best,  Willie,  my  son  ?"  "  Mar 
garet.1'  "No,  no,  you  must  not.  say  Margaret,  say 
Mamma."  "Mamma."  "And  whom  next  best?" 
"Margaret."  "No,  no,  you  must  not  say  Margaret, 
say  Papa. " 

Thus  the  kind  care  of  Margaret  wins  his  love,  and  the 
selfish  mother  teaches  him  to  reiterate  these  falsehoods, 
instead  of  performing  for  him  those  duties  which  would 
ensure  her  his  affection. 

"  But  her  home  is  in  very  nice  order."  Because  she 
has  plenty  of  money  to  pay  those  who  know  how  to 
keep  it  so.  She  knows  how  to  order  a  dinner, — she  has 
learned  what  constitutes  a  "  genteel  breakfast,"  a  ton 
dinner  and  a  "  fashionable  tea." 

Margaret  calls  her  in  the  morning  and  dresses  her 
hair — hangs  up  the  dresses  she  has  scattered  about  the 
night  before,  picks  up  her  curl  papers,  and  folds  her 


214  THE    MYRTLE  WREATH. 

night  gown,— listens  to  her  fretting  and  makes  no 
answer,  tells  her  how  becoming  her  morning  dress  is  and 
how  she  has  not  grown  a  day  older  since  she  knew  her  ! 
After  breakfast  she  lounges  in  the  library  and  reads  the 
advertisements  of  «  the  most  fashionable  and  splendid 
assortments,"'"  the  Parisian  Modes  "  and  then  studies  the 
last  page  of  the  last  Magazine  ! 

Then  Margaret  is  called  to  dress  her,  and  then  to 
prepare  her  a  lunch,  which  must  be  carried  up  three 
Hights  of  stairs,  because  it  is  not  genteel  to  eat  lunch 
where  breakfast  and  dinner  are  eaten.  Then  the  «  car 
riage  is  ordered  round  »  and  she  «  takes  a  drive,"  does 
up  her  day's  shopping,  and  returns  to  sleep  away  her 
fatigue  before  dinner,  during  which  ceremony  she 
relates  her  adventures,  and  « one  day  is  like  every 

other." 

What  a  useful  woman  ;  how  perfectly  she  understands 
the  duties  of  her  «  appropriate  sphere."  «  She  never 
departs  from  the  true  dignity  and  womanly  reserve 
which  are  the  ornament  of  her  sex."  What  a  contempt 
she  has  for  those  whose  names  are  in  the  papers,  and  on 
title  pages.  She  wonders  how  a  woman  can  be  willing 
to  be  public,  and  doesn't  wonder  that  men  are  afraid  of 
literary  ladies  ! 

How  gracefully  she  sits  in  the  great  chair  and  rocks 
herself,  with  her  tiny  foot  in  a  satin  slipper,  just  touch- 


SHE  IS  A  FASHIONABLE  WOMAN.  215 

ing  the  floor,  and  her  arm  dressed  in  velvet  and  satin 
and  lace,  resting  upon  the  damask  covered  cushion. 
She  glances  at  the  great  mirror  with  evident  compla 
cency,  and  never  wonders  that  she  had  a  dozen  offers 
and  is  able  to  boast  twice  that  number  of  conquests. 
She  will  be  sure  and  not  have  her  daughter  know  too 
much  about  books  and  such  things,  it  will  spoil  her  mar 
ket,  though  she  hesitates  not  to  initiate  her  into  all  the 
mysteries  of  French  millinery  and  fashionable  etiquette. 
She  is  evidently  a  model  woman — whilst  surrounded 
with  luxury  and  splendor,  but  when  the  firm  of  B.  &  Co. 
fails  and  she  is  transferred  to  "  lodgings" — dear !  what  a 
whining,  fretful,  uncomfortable  creature  she  is  trans 
formed  into — her  husband  "  wishes  women  were  not 
such  fools"  and  a  scene  follows,  to  which  even  the  pen 
of  a  literary  lady  could  not  do  justice  ! 


f  jpgljts  0n  %  inirie  in 


SOME  time  ago,  I  happened  in  a  little  village  where 
dwelt  an  old  lady,  who  had  been  raised  by  wealth 
to  a  position  somewhat  above  the  one  for  which  birth 
and  education  had  fitted  her.  She  had  recently  taken 
a  journey  to  Buffalo,  and  to  the  kind  enquiries  of  her 
friends,  when  she  returned,  about  her  trip,  she  answered 
that  she  had  had  a  pleasant  time,  and  enjoyed  herself 
very  much.  At  the  time  I  met  her,  in  a  little  party, 
some  one  happened  to  mention  Niagara,  and  she  quietly 

remarked,  that  she  went  there  while  at  Buffalo,  upon 

(216) 


THOUGHTS  ON  THE  PRAIRIE.  217 

which  several  exclaimed,  w  Why,  Mws.  C ,  you  never 

told  us  you  had  been  to  Niagara.  What  did  you  think 
of  it  ?  Do  tell  us  about  it,"  &c,  &c.  "  Why,"  said 
the  old  lady,  "  it  was  kind  o'  high  and  kind  o'  white, 
and  made  an  awful  noise !"  I  have  often  been  reminded 
of  this  description,  since  it  became  my  duty  to  describe 
a  prairie.  Not  that  it  would  apply,  for  I  should  need 
one  exactly  opposite.  "  It  is  kind  o'  flat,  and  kind 
o'  yellow,  and  there  is  an  awful  stillness."  My  first 
impression  was  similar  to  that  produced  by  the 
great  rivers, — an  idea  of  vastness,  of  expanse,  which 
seemed  to  give  wings  to  my  spirit.  I  never  felt  so  free, 
and  was  all  the  time  inclined  to  take  a  long  breath,  and 
really  felt  as  if  I  were  expanding,  myself,  soul  and 
body.  ; 

Then  came  the  monotony,  the  everlasting  sameness. 
What  a  relief  would  be  a  mountain,  what  an  object  of 
beauty  a  little  hill.  But  in  vain  you  stretch  your  eyes 
in  every  direction,  hoping  to  see  something  rise  up  to 
vary  the  scene.  There  is  no  change.  But  it  is  not  the 
season  to  behold  the  prairies  in  all  their  glory — to  see 
the  tall  grass  bending  to  the  gentle  breeze — the  flowers, 
the  tasseled  corn,  and  the  waving  grain.  So  I  will 
wait  till  rosy  June  appears  to  crown  the  earth  with  gar 
lands  before  I  bid  farewell  to  beauty. 

Peoria  is  to  be  another  Queen  City.     It  slopes  back 

from  the  Illinois  very  much  as  Cincinnati  does  from  the 
10 


218  THE    MYRTLE    WREATH. 

Ohio,  and  the  bluffs  form  a  beautiful  background  to  the 
picture.  It  is  not  twenty  years  since  the  first  cabin  was 
built,  and  now  you  may  look  down  upon  a  busy  town, 
with  churches  and  palaces  and  gardens — the  river  on 
which  are  floating  a  hundred  steamers,  and  a  wharf 
which  welcomes  the  commerce  of  the  world. 

One  of  the  richest  men  in  the  place  came  from  Old 
England  a  penniless  youth,  and  in  company  with  an 
Irishman,  worked  his  way  from  the  Atlantic  port  to  the 
banks  of  the  Illinois.  .  Having  selected  their  farm* 
they  tilled  it  with  their  own  hands,  and  for  two  years 
lived  alone  in  a  house  of  their  own  building,  and  with 
no  other  food  than  bread  of  their  own  baking,  made  of 
flour  and  water,  without  salt  or  yeast  or  other  cooking 
apparatus  than  the  bright  coals.  By  this  time  the 
Irishman  was  weary,  and  left  his  friend  to  climb  the 
ladder  alone.  And  he  was  soon  at  the  top ;  his  table 
set  and  waited  upon  in  the  style  of  the  English  gentry, 
and  his  house  furnished  with  true  comfort  and  elegance. 
11  America,"  he  says,  "  is  the  country  for  the  poor."  Yet 
her  soil  will  not  nourish  the  indolent,  though  there  is 
no  species  of  honest  toil  which  she  will  not  freely  reward. 
I  wonder  that  so  many  young  men  sit  down  content  in 
the  cellars  and  garrets  and  dark  counting  rooms  of  your 
great  cities,  when  half  the  labor  in  the  free  air  and  be 
neath  the  blue  sky,  would  give  them  health  and  afflu 
ence,  and  ft  home  of  their  own,  and  happy  faces 


THOUGHTS  ON  THE  PRAIRIE.  219 

around  them.  Could  my  voice  reach  them,  I  would 
say,  come  forth — be  ye  no  longer  hewers  of  wood,  and 
drawers  of  water,  but  free  and  independent  lords  of  the 
soil. 


IT  was  a  long  time  since  I  bad  made  a  fashionable 
call,  yet  I  had  a  few  acquaintances  who  were  entitled 
to  the' appellation  of  fashionable  people,  whom  I  valued, 
and  really  thought  I  should  like  to  see.     So,  on  a  bright 
cold  morning,  (it  is  always  morning  in  the  city  till  even- 
ing,)  I  put  on  the  best  I  had,  and  made  myself  look  as 
well  as  I  could,  and  schooled  all  my  muscles  and  nerves 
into   obedience  to  fashionable  rules,  and,  though  with 
much  trembling,  lest  I  should  forget  and  speak  and  act 
in  my  own  natural  way,  rang  at  the  door  of  a  fashion- 
able  friend. 


THE  FAMILY  ROOM.  221 

A  bright-looking  black  boy  appeared  as  it  opened, 
and,  without  speaking,  held  out  his  hand  for  my  card 
to  carry  to  his  mistress.  Alas  !  I  had  forgotten  it;  for 
my  calls  are  usually  made  where  the  servants  know 
me  too  well  to  need  any  explanation  ;  so,  with  as  little 
stammering  as  possible,  I  spoke  it,  and  saw  the  look 
which  said,  "  Not  much  matter  for  her,  she  is  not  the 
ton,"  as  he  opened  the  drawing  room  door,  and  turned 
away  to  announce  me. 

Fifteen  minutes  I  waited  for  any  further  proof  that 
the  house  was  inhabited,  and  endeavored  to  improve 
the  time  in  quickening  my  powers  of  observation,  and 
getting  ready  for  the  greeting.  The  "  parlor,"  of  course, 
was  "  done  up  in  papers,"  as  is  the  case  with  all  fashion 
able  parlors ;  and  like  the  "  papers"  of  the  toilet  they 
were  "  taken  down"  only  on  some  great  occasions.  So 
there  was  opportunity  for  the  exercise  of  my  imagina 
tion,  and  I  confess  I  am  always  very  curious  to  know 
what  is  under  all  those  brown  covers  which  line  the  walls 
of  drawing-rooms,  though  I  probably  should  blush  with 
confusion  if  any  body  should  see  me  peeping  under 
neath. 

I  looked  at  the  portraits  and  the  pictures,  and  fearing 
that  this  was  not  quite  proper,  I  sat  down.  But  the 
unnatural  position  of  sitting  so  very  prim,  and  keeping 
my  lips  in  proper  speaking  order,  began  to  be  painful  ; 
and,  like  an  imprisoned  child,  I  really  began  to  think  of 


222  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

mischief  as  a  relief.  I  moved  from  the  sofa  to  the  chair, 
and  from  the  chair  to  the  tete-a-tete  ;  and  at  length  could 
resist  the  temptation  no  longer,  and  lifted  the  corner  of 
the  drapery,  which  I  supposed  was  shrouding  all  beau 
tiful  things  from  my  view. 

Quickly  did  I  replace  it,  however ;  "but  having  con 
fessed  my  own  departure  from  rectitude,  I  will  not 
betray  the  folly  of  others — it  is  sufficient  that  it  was 
neither  damask  nor  satin,  nor  velvet  that  I  sawT,  and  I 
am  sure  it  was  nothing  that  the  air  or  the  sunshine 
would  spoil. 

But  at  length  the  rustle  of  silks  fell  on  my  ear,  and  a 
lady  in  rich  and  gay  attire  walked  in,  and  said  she  was 
happy  to  see  me,  and  I  said  "  Thank  you.  It  is  a 
pleasant  morning."  "  Very  pleasant !"  and  then  a 
pause.  A  paralytic  stroke  could  not  have  made  me 
more  thoroughly  dumb  ;  and  I  ask,  "  Why  is  it  ?  I 
know  there  is  neither  wisdom,  nor  learning,  nor  supe 
rior  goodness  in  her  who  chills  me.  I  will  not  yield  to 
it.1"  Rallying,  I  make  a  remark,  which  is  answered  in 
monosyllables,  and  another  which  meets  the  same  re 
sponse.  What  shall  I  do  ?  There  is  not  a  book  in  the 
room,  nor  a  plate,  nor  anything  to  which  I  can  resort  to 
open  my  lips.  It  is  not  genteel  to  have  anything  in  a 
parlor  but  what  is  dark,  and  massive,  and  rich,  and 
seems  to  say,  "  touch  not."  What  shall  I  do  ?  If  I 
had  just  come  from  the  green  woods,  I  could  not  feel  or 


THE  FAMILY  ROOM.  223 

act  m  ore  awkwardly,  and  a  sense  of  inferiority  actually 
creeps  over  me  in  the  presence  of  ignorance  and  stu 
pidity. 

But  there  is  one  genteel  rule  which  comes  to  my  re 
lief—a  genteel  call  must  be  short ;  and  though  the  mo 
ments  seem  interminable,  they  do  at  length  wear  away, 
and  the  last  word  is  said,  and  the  last  bow,  and  the  last 
smile  are  given ;  the  porter  opens  the  door,  when  I  have 
the  additional  pleasure  of  seeing  a  black  porter  look 
upon  me  with  a  smile  of  contempt,  and  I  am  in  the 
street  again,  in  the  free  air,  where  my  elasticity  is  re 
stored,  and  what  is  more,  my  feeling  of  conscious  worth. 

But  I  will  enter  one  more  parlor  before  I  go  home, 
though  I  resolve  never  again  to  try  to  enter  a  fashiona 
ble  one. 

The  next  door  at  which  I  rung,  is  tnat  of  a  friend, 
and  the  tidy,  smiling-looking  girl  who  opens  it  knows 
that  I  am  not  come  "  to  make  a  call"  but  to  see  the 
family,  and  she  ushers  me  into  the  family-room.  Oh,  has 
it  not  a  pleasant  sound — the  family-room — and  what  a 
cozy  look  it  has !  There  is  a  bright  fire  in  the  grate, 
and  by  the  window  there  is  a  book-case  and  a  bird,  and 
though  everything  is  neat,  the  chairs  and  tables  do 
not  sit  up  so  prim  and  stately,  forbidding  you  to  sit  at 
ease. 

But  more  than  all,  in  the  great  chair  by  the  fire  is 
a  grandmother  !  "Who  would  think  a  genuine  family- 


224  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

room  thoroughly  furnished,  unless  there  was  in  the  co 
ziest  corner,  and  in  the  best  chair,  a  grandmother  ?  And 
this  one  is  the  perfection  of  her  class.  Her  dress  has 
never  been  altered  for  fashion's  freaks;  for  fifty  years  it 
has  been  cut  by  the  same  pattern,  and  her  cap  has  had 
the  same  broad  frills  "  crimped  with  a  knife,"  and  the 
same  broad  black  kerchief  has  been  neatly  pinned  over 
her  shoulders,  and  the  same  expression  of  benevolence, 
and  kindness,  and  motherly  love,  has  beamed  upon  her 
countenance ;  and  I  never  saw  her  without  her  specta 
cles  and  knitting-work.  My  first  impulse  when  I  come 
into  the  room  is  to  put  my  arms  around  her  neck  and 
kiss  her  withered  cheek,  and  then  to  sit  on  a  low  stool  by 
her  side  and  listen  to  her  gentle  words,  for  they  are  full 
of  wisdom. 

The  children,  too,  belong  to  the  family-room,  and 
here  they  are  hopping,  and  skipping  and  jumping — 
Henry,  and  Mary,  and  Lucy — and  a  most  pleasing  sight 
it  is  to  see  the  terms  on  which  they  are  with  the  good 
old  lady  in  the  corner.  Now  Henry  has  thrown  him 
self  upon  her  lap,  and  down  comes  the  knitting-work, 
and  down  come  the  stitches  too;  but  Grandmother 
says,  "  No  matter ;"  for  their  love,  and  confidence,  and 
childish  freedom,  are  more  to  her  than  all  the  stitches  in 
her  stocking. 

Now  Mary  is  climbling  up  to  "  hug  her,"  and  though 
tshe  does  not  feel  a  little  troubled  to  have  her  newly-ironed 


THE  FAMILY  ROOM-  225 

frills  all  tumbled  even  by  those  loving  little  arms,  when 
the  mother  remonstrates,  it  is  "  No  matter  "  again;  for 
Grandmother  has  learned,  that  were  she  to  repulse  them 
for  every  trifle,  it  would  very  soon  be,  "  Grandmother 
doesn't  love  us,"  and  "  Grandmother  is  so  afraid,"  and 
then  they  would  not  love  her,  and  she  would  lose  her 
influence  over  them,  and  the  "  family-room  "  would  lose 
its  air  of  joyousness  and  freedom,  and  all  for  what  ? — 
for  a  cap  border  and  a  few  stitches. 

Now  this  is  not  such  a  grandmother  as  that.  Every 
little  head  is  welcome  to  rest  on  her  bosom,  and  little 
hands  may  soil  her  apron  or  drop  her  stitches,  and  meet 
with  no  reproof;  but  little  hearts  are  not  permitted  to 
indulge  in  naughtiness,  and  little  lips  must  never  pout 
or  speak  unkindly  ;  for  then  gandmother  is  sure  to  look 
sad,  and  a  shadow  on  her  countenance  is  a  reproof 
which  they  dread  more  than  any  rod. 

On  the  table  is  the  great  family  basket ;  who  does  not 
know  just  how  it  looks  with  its  stacks  of  linen,  and 
stockings  and  frocks,  and  pinafores,  fresh  from  the 
laundry,  all  ready  to  be  mended  ?  And  near  by  is  tho 
little  basket,  with  its  cards  of  silk  and  spools  of  cotton, 
and  skeins  of  parti-colored  thread,  an  old  thimble,  and  a 
bright  new  one,  an  ample  "  houscivife^  with  the  needles 
all  nicely  arranged,  and  furnished  with  every  other  con 
venience  a  good  housekeeper  is  sure  to  possess,  and  a 
pretty  little  needle  book  for  show  by  its  side  ! 
10* 


226  THE    MYRTLE  WREATH. 

On  a  little  table  in  the  corner  is  the  family  Bible,  not 
bound  in  gilt,   and  placed  there  for  ornament,  but  in  a 
stout,  hardy  dress  that  will  bear  use ;  and  morning  and 
evening  I  know  it  is  taken  by  the  youthful  father,  while 
all  are  gathered  round  to  hear,  and  opened   at  some 
portion  which  they  can  understand,  and  read  with  a  few 
impressive  comments,  that  have  an  influence  all  the  day 
upon  the  family  circle,  not  repressing  mirth,  but  hallow 
ing  it;    and  then  as  the  holy  book  is  constantly  before 
their  eyes,  and  always  in  the  same  place,  it  becomes  a 
silent  monitor,  reminding  them  that  God  is  ever  present. 
Every  thing  speaks  of  comfort ;  and  the  mother  is  the 
perfection  of  a  lady  and  the  perfection   of  a   mother. 
The  children  are  bright,  and  active,  and  full  of  frolic  ; 
but  I  have  been  here  many  times,  and  never  saw  them 
rude.     They  unite,  better  than  almost  any  I  have  ever 
seen,  freedom,  and  joyousness,  and  childish   manners, 
with  the  propriety  and  respectful  deportment  of  maturer 
years. 

But  though  we  are  in  the  room  with  Grandmother 
and  the  children,  and  the  great  basket,  our  conversation 
is  not  of  housework,  nor  servants,  nor  any  of  the  petty 
details  of  housekeeping;  the  lady  who  is  the  presiding 
genius  is  familiar  with  all  these  things,  and  devotes  to 
them  all  the  attention  they  need,  but  is  not.engrossed 
with  them ;  and  she  unites  the  qualities  of  a  highly-cul 
tivated  woman  better  than  nlmost  any  other  I  know — 


THE    FAMILY    ROOM.  227 

graceful  and  easy  in  her  manners,  familiar  with  books 
and  all  pnssing  events,  efficient,  full  of  kindly  sympathy 
and  most  emphatically  endowed  with  common  sense 
Her  "  price  is  indeed  above  rubies."  I  never  spend  an 
hour  in  that  pleasant  room  without  feeling  refreshed, 
without  having  my  mind  expanded  and  my  heart  made 
better. 

But  her  parlor  is  not  "  done  up  in  papers  "  nor 
"  brown  linen,"  and  no  chill  creeps  over  you,  or  freezes 
your  lips,  if  you  linger  there.  It  contains  pictures,  and 
music,  and  books;  and  the  children  are  not  entirely 
banished,  and  even  Grandmother  is  sometimes  there ; 
but  never  did  I  meet  children  or  a  grandmother  in  one 
of  those  stately  drawing-rooms  such  as  I  pictured 
first.  The  little  ones  would  be  sure  to  leave  their  foot 
prints  ;  and  what  a  rebuke  the  good  old  lady^  with  her 
knitting-work  would  be,  to  the  idle  loungers  who  drop  in 
to  kill  time,  and  talk  about  nothing ! 


@ne  0f  fife's  Contrasts. 


IJST  you  part  with  it  ?"  "  I  must,  it  is  the  last 
I  have."  "  I  do  not  like  to  take  it,  but  perhaps 
you  will  some  day  wish  to  redeem  it ;  if  you  should, 
remember  that  it  is  yours.51  There  was  no  answer,  and 
I  turned  to  see  by  whom  those  few  words  so  full  of  sor 
row  were  spoken.  "  I  must,  it  is  the  last  I  have  !" 

I  was  standing  by  the  show-case  in  a  Jeweller's  store, 
and  she  who  had  come  to  make  so  sad  a  bargain,  was 
evidently  one  who  had  experienced  great  reverses— she 
seemed  the  wreck  of  a  lady  of  rank  and  fashion.  She 

(228) 


ONE  OF  LIFE'S  CONTRASTS  229 

was  not  yet  old,  and  the  deep  lines  upon  her  temple 
and  about  her  mouth  were  not  such  careless  lines  as 
time  is  accustomed  to  draw ;  they  were  sharper  and 
more  deep-set;  neither  was  the  lurid  color  about  the 
eye  the  tinge  of  time — it  was  the  stain  of  tears  that  had 
been  wrung  from  the  heart.  Her  form  was  not  bowed 
but  it  was  shrunk,  and  the  muscles  were  rigid.  How 
the  blue  veins  stood  out  upon  her  wasted  hand  !  Her 
dress  was  the  remnant  of  what  had  once  been  a  rich 
and  costly  silk,  and  a  faded  shawl  hung  'loosely  upon 
her  shoulders.  Her  eye  had  the  restless  wandering 
expression  of  suspicion — she  was  in  haste  lest  she 
should  be  recognized. 

She  had  suffered,  but  suffering  had  not  produced 
humility  and  the  Christian's  quiet  resignation.  The 
thought  of  the  past  was  burning  and  bitterness,  and  the 
future  was  full  of  terror. 

All  this  I  saw  at  a  glance,  as  she  turned  away,  and 
with  a  hurried  step  went  down  the  street. 

It  was  a  watch  with  which  she  had  parted,  and  she 
took  the  money  in  exchange  with  a  stealthy  grasp  and 
the  dark  shadow  of  mingled  shame,  revenge  and  hatred 
came  over  her  once  handsome  face,  and  the  deep  blush 
of  humiliation  mantled  her  cheek.  She  had  committed 
no  crime,  but  poverty  in  her  eyes  had  ever  been  a  dis 
grace,  and  changes  and  reverses  were  something  to 
hate  the  world  for, 


230  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

When  she  had  departed  I  looked  up  for  an  explana 
tion,  and  the  grey-haired  man  behind  the  desk  replied, 
"  Just  twenty  years  ago  I  sold  her  that  watch  for  a 
hundred  dollars,  and  she  was  then  worth  a  hundred 
thousand.  One  by  one  she  has  parted  with  every  arti 
cle  of  jewelry  in  her  possession,  and  when  the  money 
for  this  is  gone,  she  must  depend  on  charity  or  begin  a 
life  of  labor,  for  which  her  early  life  and  education  have 
totally  unfitted  her." 

"  And  what  reverse  has  brought  her  to  this  ?"  I  asked, 
thinking  that  some  failure  in  business  or  crash  in  the 
money  market  must  have  brought  so  great  a  change. 

"  Nothing  but  reckless  expenditure  and  a  life  of  ex 
travagance.  She  was  early  left  a  widow  with  a  hand 
some  fortune  and  one  daughter.  She  had  no  knowledge 
of  business  and  kept  no  accounts.  '  It  was  stupid  work 
to  keep  accounts,  and  she  was  sure  there  was  no  need 
of  it.'  Her  money  was  well  invested,  and  needed  no 
particular  care  except  what  brokers  and  bankers  were 
willing  to  bestow.  But  the  income  was  not  sufficient  to 
support  her  in  the  luxury  in  which  she  had  been  living, 
and  so  by  little  and  little  she  trespassed  upon  the  prin 
cipal,  till  it  was  gone — wasted  upon  follies  which 
brought  her  no  real  pleasure  and  reduced  her  at  length 
to  what  you  have  seen." 

"  But  had  she  no  friends  to  remonstrate  with  her  and 
point  out  to  her  the  end  of  such  a  course?"  When  did 


ONE  OF  LIFE  S  CONTRASTS.  231 

remonstrance  ever  have  any  influence  upon  an  ignorant 
wilful  woman  ?  She  could  not  understand  the  differ 
ence  between  principal  and  interest,  and  would  not  be 
lieve  there  could  be  any  exhaustion  to  a  hundred  thou 
sand  dollars  ! 

Ah  yes,  and  here  I  blushed  with  shame  and  indigna 
tion  at  the  way  in  which  hundreds  and  thousands  of 
just  such  women  are  educated.  Of  what  use  is  it  to 
them  to  understand  about  money  affairs  ?  It  is  their 
business  to  mind  their  households  and  children,  and  not 
meddle  with  "  things  above  their  comprehension."  And 
this  is  an  illustration  of  the  good  effects  of  such 
training. 

"  Where  does  'she  live  ?"  I  asked.  "  She  and  her 

daughter  occupy  two  rooms  in  B street,  and  are 

not  as  yet  without  the  comforts  of  life,  and  still  attempt 
to  keep  up  an  appearance  of  style  and  plenty.  I  meet 
them  now  and  then  with  something  of  the  air  and 
dress  of  former  days,  but  poverty  is  fast  creeping  upon 
them.  Misfortune  has  had  none  of  the  chastening  in 
fluence  which  we  love  to  see — the  proud  spirit  is  only 
prouder — is  chafed  and  fretted,  but  not  subdued. 

"  Where  does  all  the  money  come  from  ?"  is  a  ques 
tion  I  do  often  ask  myself;  where  does  all  the  money 
come  from  that  buys  these  costly  dresses  and  those 
bracelets  of  gold,  and  diamonds  and  precious  stones  ? 
I  linger  at  the  windows  and  wonder — I  meet  the 


232        ,m  THE  MYRTLE  WBEATH. 

throngs  in  the  crowded  street,  and  wonder — I  stop  to 
pity  the  poor  blind  beggar  by  the  wayside — to  talk  with 
some  little  girl  with  tattered  frock  and  dishevelled  hair, 
and  wonder  why  there  must  be  such  painful  contrasts  at 
every  step  through  life  1 

When  I  heard  this  story  a  part  of  the  mystery  was 
solved,  and  when  not  many  months  afterwards  I  met 
that  face  so  haggard,  and  recognized  the  restless  glance 
of  that  sunken  eye,  I  knew  that  there  must  be  a  sadder 
tale — I  stopped  in  to  see  the  grey-haired  man  again.  He 
was  there  behind  the  desk  just  where  I  left  him.  I  re 
called  the  incidents  of  my  first  interview  by  recurring 
to  the  watch  and  asking  if  it  had  ever  been  redeemed  ; 
"  Oh  no,  I  did  not  expect  it  would  be  redeemed."  "  Do 
you  know  what  has  become  of  the  poor  woman  whose 
story  you  related  to  me  ?" 

<(  Ah  yes,  it  is  the  story  which  might  be  stereotyped 
concerning  all  like  her — "  she  is  lost" — "  and  her  daugh 
ter  ?"  .  "  Lost,  lost,"  repeated  solemnly  the  grave  old 
gentleman. 

The  census  tells  us  that  there  are  thirty  thousand  just 
such  "  lost  ones"  in  the  streets  of  this  great  city,  and 
that  love  of  dress  was  the  destroying  passion,  and  the 
street  display  the  first  step  to  ruin. 

With  a  heavy  heart  I  again  went  forth.  Again  I  lin 
gered  at  the  windows  and  looked  at  the  glittering  trea 
sures  and  thought  "  How  many,  Oh  how  many  will  be 


ONE  OF  LIFE'S  CONTKASTS.  233 

allured  by  these  to  barter  all  that  makes  life  precious/' 
— to  sell  all  happiness  on  earth  and  in  Heaven  for  the 
baubles  of  an  hour. 

"  Lost,  lost."  Only  a  little  while  ago  they  were  in 
the  dawn  of  life  and  health  and  beauty,  with  the  bright 
visions  of  girlhood,  and  the  holy  hopes  of  womanhood 
shedding  their  pure  rays  upon  their  pathway,  and  now 
they  are  gone  down  to  darkness. 

"  Lost,  lost."  Oh,  what  can  fall  so  sadly  upon  the 
heart  of  woman  as  these  two  words  concerning  one, 
whom  a  hallowed  influence  upon  her  childhood,  and  a 
right  education  in  future  years,  might  have  made  an 
honored  wife  and  mother,  a  useful  member  of  the  living 
Church  on  earth,  and  an  heir  of  glory. 

"  Lost,  lost."  They  are  more  sad  than  any  death- 
knell  that  peals  upon  the  ear,  for  it  is  not  on  earth  alone 
and  by  earthly  judges  that  they  are  repeated — they  will 
be  repeated  by  the  Great  Judge  at  the  great  day  when 
the  doom  of  millions  is  sealed  forever. 

"  Lost,  lost,"  Oh  let  them  echo  in  every  ear,  and 
knock  at  every  heart,  till  something  is  done  to  rescue 
these  lost  ones,  and  bring  them  back  to  life,  and  more  is 
done  to  prevent  them  from  entering  the  broad  way  that 
leads  to  death. 


I  KNOW  the  hand  that  dealt  it, 
And  know  the  stroke  was  kind, 

For  One  alone  can  wound  us, 
And  He  alone  can  bind. 


"Whene'er  he  sends  the  angel 

To  earth  with  sorrow's  stings, 
New  legions  are  commissioned 

With  healing  on  their  wings. 

(234) 


THE    HEALING.  235 

How  sweet  to  bruised  spirits 

The  balm  they  kindly  pour, 
While  leading  us  to  Gilead, 

Where  we  may  gather  more. 


Thus  through  the  arid  desert 

The  living  waters  flow, 
And  the  Palm  and  Olive  o'er  us 

Their  cooling  shadows  throw 

And  thus  though  weary,  weary, 

The  pilgrimage  of  life, 
While  angels  hover  o'er  us 

We  may  glory  in  the  strife. 

Arid  hope  is  pointing  upward, — 
On  wings  of  faith  we  soar, 

To  the  land  where  sorrow's  shadows 
Will  never  darken  more. 


Oh,  sweet  that  home  in  Heaven — 
The  peace  it  will  impart — 

Where  there  is  no  more  healing, 
No  binding  of  the  heart. 


Strange  things  1  feate  sttu  aui  jrrori. 


C%  T)OWEK   is   corrupting,"   says    the    Politician. 
JL     "  Power  is  corrupting,"  says  the  foe  to  hierar 
chies.     "  Good  men,  the  best  men,  should  not  be  en 
trusted  with  absolute  power."     "  Power  is  corrupting," 
says  the  enemy  of  slavery,  "  men  should  not  be  permit 
ted  the  absolute  control  of  human  beings  ;  however  good 
the  master  may  be,  he  will  be  tempted  to  indulge  in 
tyranny,  if  there  is  nothing  external  to  restrain  him." 
These   are   sentiments   which    I    have    often    heard 

expressed  by  one  who  still  exclaims,  "  I  will  be  master 

(236) 


STRANGE  THINGS  I  HAVE  SEEN  AND  HEARD.    237 

in  my  own  house ;  those  who  live  with  me  shall  obey 
me."  And  the  obedience  which  is  required  of  a  wife  is 
as  servile  as  that  which  is  rendered  by  any  bond  slave. 

To  his  daughter  he  says,  "  Whilst  you  are  in  my 
house  you  will  do  as  I  say,  if  you  are  a  hundred  years 
old ;"  not  because  stoe  would  not  obey  willingly  and 
happily,  but  because  there  is  such  pleasure  in  exacting 
obedience.  All  would  gladly  do  right  of  their  own 
accord,  but  that  would  not  be  sufficient ;  they  must  be 
compelled ;  they  must  feel  in  every  nerve,  and  bone  and 
muscle,  that  they  are  subject  to  the  will  of  another.  To 
order,  thwart  and  torture,  is  a  peculiar  pleasure,  and  I 
am  fully  convinced,  is  not  enjoyed  by  Princes,  and 
Popes,  and  slave-owners  alone. 

I  have  seen  the  staunchest  advocates  of  "  Woman's 
rights  "  and  "  human  freedom,"  exercise  the  most  brutal 
tyranny  over  wives  and  daughters.  I  have  seen  a  quiet 
Christian  woman  beaten,  by  a  man  who  .was  ever  rail 
ing  against  oppression.  I  have  seen  the  marks  of  an 
inch  cable  on  the  shoulders  of  a  grown  up  daughter, 
placed  there  by  a  man  who  was  ever  uttering  anathemas 
against  those,  who,  for  any  reason  applied  the  lash  to 
those  over  whom  the  law  gave  them  power  ! 

I  have  seen  a  little  girl  drop  lifeless  under  the  inflic 
tion  of  the  rod,  wrhich  was  used  not  merely  as  an  in 
strument  of  punishment,  but  to  prove  that  he  who 


238  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

wielded  it  had  a  right  to  do  what  he  pleased  with  his 
own. 

If  those  who  rule  with  such  authority  lived  where 
human  beings  are  property,  they  would  exult  in  its  pe 
culiar  privileges,  and  triumph  in  the  wrongs  they  could 
commit  with  impunity.  ^ 

"  Power  is  indeed  corrupting."  I  have  seen  a  young 
girl  dragged  from  room  to  room  by  her  hair,  beaten  and 
trodden  upon,  for  only  a  slight  offence,  by  one  whom 
she  called  mother,  because  tyranny  was  sweet — to  in 
spire  fear  more  pleasant  than  to  inspire  love. 

I  have  seen  in  many  families,  wives  and  daughters 
and  sisters,  afraid  with  a  fear  not  less  slavish  than  that 
which  inspires  the  most  abject  among  those  who  are 
bought  and  sold,  and  all  because  those  who  held  it  do- 
lighted  in  swaying  the  iron  sceptre  and  ruling  with  an 
iron  rod.  And  those  who  are  ruled  are  expected  meekly 
to  endure  ;  their  lips  must  be  even  wreathed  in  smiles, 
and  breathing  gladness  for  those  who  have  crushed  all 
gladness  from  their  hearts.  "  Power  is  corrupting," 
but  it  is  not  Kings  and  Politicians  alone  whom  it  cor 
rupts. 


&nfo  fisit  to  m  Jdfet' 


•  »  IPvE  AE  me  1"  What  others  in  our  language  are 
JL/  so  often  and  so  thoughtlessly  uttered  as  these 
two  words  ?  I  had  heard  them  a  million  of  times,  till 
they  fell  on  my  ear  like  any  other  expression  of  no  indi 
vidual  import. 

But  this  morning  I  was  standing  by  the  side  of  one, 
whom  I  knew  to  have  experienced  in  a  few  short  years 
a  long  life  of  agony,  when  suddenly  he  bounded  from 
me  to  grasp  the  hand  of  a  pale,  gentle  being,  in  whose 
face  was  also  written  suffering,  while  at  the  same  time 

(239) 


240  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

burst  from  his  lips  these  little  words,  in  a  tone  that  star 
tled  me,  and  sent  the  blood  rushing,  torrent-like,  from 
my  heart,  whilst  his  own  seemed  breaking  by  one  of 
those  blows  which  recollection  deals  in  its  power  to  call 
up  the  past  and  set  it  in  instant,  and  terrible  array  be 
fore  us. 

"  DEAR  ME  !"  The  words  were  nothing,  but  never 
before  had  I  learned  the  magic  power  of  the  living 
voice.  I  looked  a  moment  and  understood  it  all.  He 
had  been  a  father,  whose  love  for  a  gifted  and  beau 
teous  daughter,  was  a  passion  such  as  even  few  fathers 
feel.  In  the  bloom  of  girlhood's  beauty  she  was  stricken 
with  disease,  during  which  he  watched  her  with  a  devo 
tion  which  was  almost  madness,  and  when  the  grave  re 
ceived  her,  sank  a  prey  to  grief,  which  wasted  him,  till 
he,  too,  was  on  the  verge  of  the  tomb. 

Then  another  and  another  cord  was  broken,  till  not  a 
link  was  left  to  bind  him  to  earth,  yet  still  he  lived. 

Those  whom  he  was  greeting  had  been  tho  guardi 
ans  of  his  idol  treasure,  his  friends  through  all  the  long 
weeks  of  suffering  and  woe ;  comforters  in  the  hour  of 
darkness,  and  counsellors  when  there  seemed  no  hope. 
Months  and  many  miles  of  land  and  sea,  had  separated 
thorn,  and  here  they  met. 

"  DEAR  ME  !"  It  was  a  common-place  expression  at 
such  a  time,  and  yet  the  tone  had  in  it  more  of  intensity 
— of  deep  and  varied  emotion,  than  any  in  music  or  in 


THRILLING   INCIDENT.  241 

eloquence,  that  ever  had  before  struck  upon  ray  ear. 
There  was  a  parent's  "deep,  strong,  deathless  love  ;" 
there  was  the  unutterable  anguish  of  broken  ties  ;  there 
was  gratitude  for  those  deeds  of  loving  kindness,  and 
joy  and  gladness  at  the  meeting. 

Oh,  the  power  of  memory  !  how  quickly  the  past,  with 
all  its  sable  train,  passed  on  before  him.  The  wasting 
sickness  upon  those  lovely  forms ;  the  cold  relentless 
hand  that  snatched  them  from  his  embrace  ;  the  shroud  ; 
the  pall,  and  mourning  groups,  and  then  the  crushed 
and  broken  spirit,  struggling  with  its  speechless  woe. 

I  afterwards  sought  the  Artist's  studio,  to  look  upon 
the  faces  of  the  lost  and  loved  ones,  the  bright  yet  sor 
rowful  vision  of  whom  had  been  thus  painfully  recalled. 
How  beautiful,  how  beautiful !  I  wondered  not  that 
round  that  Father's  heart  had  so  closely  twined  affec 
tion's  cords,  that  it  was  rent  and  shattered  when  they 
snapped.  I  wondered  not  that  earth  had  grown  a 
waste,  and  life  a  wilderness  to  him,  round  whom  had 
once  gathered  that  lovely  group,  now  "  gone — all 
gone,"  except  as  his  magic  pencil  has  preserved  them. 

A  family — the  favorites  of  genius  !  Never  was  the 
lyre  tuned  more  sweetly  than  by  that  poet  mother,  and 
not  less  richly  gifted  were  the  daughters,  who  lived  to 
an  age  to  exhibit  the  development  of  their  powers.  At 
four  yours  old  they  began  to  lisp  in  rhyme,  and  as  the 
dew  moistened  iluvver  exhales  the  perfume,  so  were 


242  THE    MYRTLE  WREATH, 

their  spirits  redolent  with  the  sweet  breath  of  poesy. 
Pure  and  highly  cultivated  were  their  minds,  and  not 
less  lovely  were  the  fruits  which  the  culture  of  the  heart 
yielded — the  graces  of  the  spirit. 

And  all  that  was  beautiful  in  expression,  graceful  in 
form,  and  striking  in  feature,  still  lives,  by  the  more 
wonderful  genius  of  the  artist  Father.  The  canvass 
breathes  and  speaks  as  you  gaze. 

It  was  indeed  a  sight  to  make  a  seraph  weep;  a 
family  so  lovely  and  so  gifted,  thus  early  removed  from 
a  sphere  where  they  would  have  shed  such  holy 
radiance ;  and  yet  how  bright  and  glorious  must  be  that 
little  band  tuning  their  golden  harps  in  the  angel  choir 
above. 

He  is  left,  that  bereaved  and  stricken,  yet  manly 
spirit,  to  tread  the  world's  rough  path  alone.  There 
can  be  no  greater  sorrow  for  him  on  earth,  and  it  is 
kind  to  pray  that  the  weary  pilgrimage  may  be  short, 
and  they  all  united,  a  "  whole  family  in  Heaven." 


ile 


POOR  little  Robert !  And  why  is  he  poor  little  Ro- 
bert  ?  He  is  dressed  well  and  warmly,  and  he  lives 
in  that  large  handsome  house,  an  only  son — an  only 
child.  His  father  is  rich,  and  loves  him,  as  fathers  are 
prone  to  love  only  sons,  and  he  has  many  friends  and 
enough  to  eat  and  drink.  He  also  has  many  handsome 
toys — a  rocking-horse  and  blocks  in  abundance,  rail- 
cars  and  steamboats  and  ships — and  yet  whenever  I  see 
him,  I  cannot  help  saying,  poor  Robert ! 

See  how  pale  he  looks,  and  what  a  mature  expression 


244  THE    MYRTLE   WREATH. 

of  sadness  rests  upon  his  face.  I  say,  "  Good  morning 
Eobert,  how  do  you  do  this  morning  ?"  "  I  am  very 
well,"  he  answers,  but  he  does  not  smile,  and  speaks 
with  a  mournful  tone,  as  if  his  little  heart  was  heavy. 

I  never  see  him  playing  with  children,  and  in  the 
street  he  walks  with  the  sober  heavy  step  of  sorrow. 
Almost  every  day  I  meet  him,  wandering  alone  from 
street  to  street  and  sometimes  he  comes  and  sits  upon 
the  doorstep,  especially  on  Sunday  mornings,  with  his 
little  hands  clasped  across  his  breast,  and  his  head 
drooping,  while  his  full  dark  eye  is  fixed  upon  the  sky 
or  gazing  upon  vacancy. 

Poor  little  Robert !  Very  early  in  the  morning  he  is 
sent  to  school  with  a  little  basket  on  his  arm,  which  con 
tains  his  dinner,  though  the  school  room  is  but  a  little 
way  from  home,  and  all  the  long  noon  he  lingers  about 
with  a  listless  air,  never  joining  in  the  merry  sports  of 
other  children,  though  always  gentle  and  kind. 

"  Why  do  you  stay  all  day  when  you  are  so  little 
ways  from  home  ?"  ask  the  children  of  Robert.  "  Mo 
ther  says  I  must,"  he  replies,  and  a  deeper  shade  of 
sadness  spreads  over  his  pale  face. 

At  nightt  when  those  of  his  own  age  are  permitted 
to  leave  school  early  because  they  are  little  ones  and  get 
weary,  Robert  stays,  though  he  looks  more  weary  than 
the  rest. 

"  Come  Robert,  why  do  you  not  go  home  ?"  exclaims 


POOR  LITTLE  ROBERT.  245 

some  merry-hearted  boy  who  is  full  of  glee,  and  whose 
heart  is  bounding  with  joy  at  the  thought  of  freedom 
and  a  happy  home. 

1  Mother  says  I  must  stay  till  school  is  done,"  Ro 
bert  answers,  while  his  eyes  fill  with  tears.  And  when 
he  goes  home  there  is  not  a  gleam  of  pleasure  upon 
his  face ;  he  does  not  leap  the  steps  with  the  light  bound 
of  childhood,  and  hesitates  before  he  rings  the  bell,  as 
if  he  dreaded  to  enter. 

Poor  little  Robert  !  his  mother  dreads  to  see  him  en 
ter  too.  She  cannot  bear  the  noise  of  children,  though 
it  seems  to  me  that  any  noise  little  Robert  is  inclined  to 
make  would  not  disturb  a  mouse.  She  cannot  permit 
him  to  go  into  the  parlor  because  he  might  "  put  things 
out  of  place,"  and  the  room  would  not  be  in  order  for 
callers.  She  cannot  have  him  in  the  nursery,  because 
his  steamboats  and  railroads  make  her  nervous,  "  she  is 
so  delicate."  She  cannot  have  him  in  her  room,  because 
almost  every  night  when-  he  returns  from  school  there 
are  dresses  and  ribbons  and  laces,  laid  out  for  the  eve 
ning  ball  or  Opera,  and  his  childish  curiosity  might 
tempt  him  to  touch  them.  He  is  not  allowed  to  go-  in 
to  the  kitchen,  because  "  he  must  not  associate  with  ser 
vants  and  acquire  their  vulgar  ways." 

His  mother  cannot  talk  with  him  because  "he  asks  so 
many  questions  and  is  so  tiresome."  He  must  not  cling 
to  her  and  climb  upon  her  knees,  because  "he  l  musses ' 


246  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH 

her  collars  and  spoils  her  dresses."  When  it  is  dark  his 
father  comes,  and  for  a  little  while  he  is  petted  and  ca 
ressed,  and  feels  that  he  is  loved ;  but  he  is  soon  hur 
ried  away  to  some  scene  of  excitement,  and  Robert 
goes  to  bed  and  cries  himself  to  sleep. 

In  the  morning  he  does  not  get  up  crowing  and  sing 
ing  and  whistling,  and  making  a  "  terrible  noise,"  as 
mothers  know  that  boys  are  wont  to  do.  No,  Robert 
rises  very  quietly,  and  steals  away  to  some  corner,  al 
most  as  if  he  were  guilty,  wishing  his  papa  would  come 
down,  for  in  his  presence  he  feels  a  little  freedom.  But 
his  papa  sleeps  very  late  because  he  is  out  long  into  the 
night,  and  when  he  does  make  his  appearance,  he  is  in 
such  a  hurry  for  his  breakfast  that  he  may  "go  down 
town,"  that  he  has  no  time  to  devote  to  Robert.  Be 
sides,  he  has  no  idea  of  the  desolation  of  the  little  boy's 
heart.  He  supplies  him  with  books  and  "  playthings." 
and  sends  him  to  school,  and  though  he  sometimes 
thinks  "  he  is  not  like  other  boys  "  and  "  fear  he  is 
dull,"  the  mother  has  no  such  fears,  and  he  is  left  again 
to  his  solitude. 

Poor  little  Robert !  could  he  only  open  his  heart, 
and  pour  out  its  sorrows,  he  might  learn  to  skip  and 
play  and  forget  them ;  but  there  is  a  something  whis 
pering,  "  She  who  neglects  and  chides  me  is  my  mother, 
I  must  not  tell  my  grief."  So  he  bears  it  like  a  hero 
and  a  martyr.  Now  his  spirit  seems  to  be  purified 


POOR  LITTLE  ROBERT.  247 

and  made  manly  and  noble  by  his  suffering.  God  grant 
that  when  he  is  older  and  is  driven  forth  by  his  mother's 
reproaches,  that  evil  ways  may  not  tempt  him,  and  re 
proaches  come  back  to  her  with  tenfold  bitterness. 

"  The  innocent  mirth  of  childhood  is  too  much  for 
her  delicate  nerves."  May  she  not  see  the  neglected 
boy  become  the  ruined  man ;  may  the  lips  which  she 
seals  to  childish  prattle  and  chills  with  her  coldness, 
never  burn  with  unhallowed  passion,  and  taunt  her 
with  her  worse  than  heathen  cruelty. 

"  She  cannot  bear  the  gentle  child  in  her  presence  !" 
May  she  not  live  to  see  herself  a  mother  whom  her  son 
hates. 

"  She  cannot  take  the  trouble  to  teach  him  to  kneel 
at  her  feet  and  lisp  his  evening  prayer."  May  her  nerves 
never  be  rent  and  shattered  with  the  curses  those  lips 
may  yet  utter,  and  which  he  will  learn  of  those  who 
will  take  pleasure  in  teaching  him.  "  She  cannot  take 
his  little  hand  and  lead  him  to  bed— lull  him  with  an 
infant  song  and  press  a  kiss  upon  his  cheek."  May  she 
not  live  to  see  him  reeling  from  a  drunken  revel  to  a 
drunkard's  couch,  and  shrink  from  the  touch  of  him 
who  owes  to  her  his  being,  and  whom  she  has  held  to 
her  bosom. 

"  She  cannot  listen  to  his  songs  of  careless  mirth  and 
boyish  glee."  May  her  brain  never  be  turned  to  mad- 


248  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

ness  by  the  wail  of  a  lost  one  whom  she  has  cast  down 
to  degradation  and  shame. 

Poor  little  Robert !  I  cannot  restrain  the  tears  as  I 
see  thy  little  feet  go  wandering  round  with  no  mother 
to  guide  them.  May  some  guardian  angel  keep  thee, 
and  "  He  who  took  little  children  in  his  arms  and 
blessed  them,"  watch  over  and  bless  thee  always. 


011  tljc  frame. 


IT  is  not  necessary  to  give  all  the  evidence  which 
exists,  to  prove  that  it  became  absolutely  necessary 
that  I  should  ride  about  fifty   miles  over  a  Western 
Prairie,   alone ;  that  is,  alone   in  the  woman's  sense  of 
the  term  !   "I  had  neither  companion  nor  protector  ! 

I  had  remained  in  one  of  those  bustling  towns  far  up 
on  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi,  till  the  ice  had  accuniu 
lated  in  the  river  so  that  boats  could  not  run,  and  I 
must  therefore  depend  upon  a  stage,  or  some  private 
conveyance,  till  I  reached  the  point  at  which  the  river 

was  again  open. 

11*  (249) 


250  THE   MYRTLE  WREATH. 

For  the  first  twelve  miles  I  was  indebted  to  the  car 
riage  of  a  friend,  and  met  with  no  adventures.  Then  I 
was  put  on  board  the  "  regular  post-coach,"  and  was 
the  only  passenger.  There  was  no  "  inside  and  outside," 
and  but  two  seats,  one  of  which  was  occupied  by  the  dri 
ver,  who  was  a  "  Great  Western,"  a  genuine  son  of  the 
soil,  and  the  other  by  my  humble  self.  I  felt  indeed 
"  peculiarly  situated,"  and  not  at  all  inclined  to  be  mer 
ry  ;  but  my  companion  soon  gave  evidence  of  a  decided 
inclination  to  be  sociable,  by  beginning  the  following 
dialogue. 

u  Wai,  I  guess  as  now  you  aint  married  ?" 

"  Why,  what  makes  you  think  so  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  don'now,  there's  most  allers  generally  some- 
thin'  about  the  girls,  so  that  I  can  tell  whether  er  no 
they're  married." 

"  And  I  guess  you  are,"  I  said  by  way  of  reply. 

"  No,  oh  no,  I  ain't,"  and  there  came  over  his  braw 
ny  face,  not  a  rosy,  but  a  peony  blush. 

"  Why  not,  why  don't  you  get  married  ?" 

"  Oh,  when  a  man  is  married  he  has  to  settle  right 
down  in  one  place,  can't  go  no  where,  nor  see  nothin', 
and  I  want  to  see  a  little  of  the  world.  I  was  born  in 
Ohio,  and  came  out  here  'bout  two  years  ago,  and  went 
to  boating,  and  now  I  am  driving  team.  Don't  know 
what  I  shall  do  next." 

"Well,"   said  I,  (<  when   you   choose  to  marry   and 


A  SOLITARY  RIDE  ON  THE  PRAIRIE.  251 

settle  down,  you  have  but  to  ask  some  nice  girl,  and 
she  will  say  yes,  and  the  matter  will  be  finished  at  once." 

"Oh,  but  I  aint  so  sure  about  hearin'  yes.  Girls 
sometimes  say  no." 

"  Do  they  ?  well  you  have  the  advantage  of  us,  in  the 
privilege  of  asking — we  have  to  wait  to  be  asked,  and  if 
nobody  asks  us,  of  course  we  cannot  say  yes." 

"  But  the  asking,  that's  the  worst  part ;  to  kind  o'like 
a  girl,  and  pop  the  question,  and  hear  her  say  no.  I  tell 
you  it  is  about  the  hardest." 

His  ideas  were  very  original,  and  he  expressed  them 
with  great  freedom,  and  served  to  diversify  very  plea 
santly  the  sameness  of  a  ride  over  some  twelve  miles  of 
prairie  road,  which  recent  minings  and  freezings  had 
converted  into  such  a  corduroy  as  no  Green  mountain 
wild  ever  witnessed. 

When  his  <:  official  term"  was  ended,  he  set  me  down 
at  a  little  French  tavern  by  the  wayside  and  it  was 
three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 

I  only  asked  for  the  privilege  of  taking  a  nap,  for  it 
seemed  to  me  I  must  have  been  metamorphosed  into  a 
jelly,  and  for  the  purpose  of  sleeping  I  was  permitted 
to  take  my  choice  of  half-a-dozen  little  rooms — kitchen, 
parlor,  and  bed-room — all  looking  as  if  they  had  no 
such  acquaintances  as  chambermaids,  till  in  despair  of 
finding  comfort  and  cleanliness,  "  I  laid  me  down  to 
sleep"  amidst  fleas  and  various  other  quite  as  sociable 


252  THE   MYRTLE   WREATH. 

companions,  and  slept  ten  minutes,  when  I  was  aroused 
by  the  bustling  landlord,  "  for  the  stage  was  ready." 

"  You  are  an  English  lady,"  said  he,  as  he  officially 
conducted  me  on  my  way. 

"  Why,  how  came  you  to  know  ?"  said  I,  for  I  thought 
it  would  be  a  pity  to  spoil  his  conceit,  by  telling  what 
all  my  readers  have  learned  by  greater  discernment, 
that  I  came  from  the  greenest  part  of  Yankee-land — 
"  how  could  you  tell  so  quick  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  can  always  tell  an  English  lady  the  moment 
I  see  her." 

I  suppose  it  was  my  embonpoint  which  deceived  him, 
as  1  confess  it  often  led  others  into  the  same  mistake, 
and  is  on  a  scale  which  American  women  generally,  and 
modern  gentility  do  not  approve  ! 

Now  I  was  on  the  way  again,  and  not  in  any  thing 
that  could  in  Christian  chanty  be  called  a  stage.  A 
New-England  urchin  would  have  called  it  a  "  go-cart." 
I  needed  no  canopy  to  shield  me  from  the  sun,  for  it 
was  cloudy  and  \ery  dark,  but  the  wind  was  piercing 
cold,  and  I  had  for  companions  three  boorish-looking 
men.  Never  before  did  I  feel  BO  much  as  if  I  were 
away  out  in  Iowa  ! 

The  sun  soon  went  down,  the  moon  and  stars  were 
invisible;  I  could  not  see  tine  river;  there  were  no 
hills,  all  around  was  one  dreary  'waste,  With  what 
affection  my  thoughts  lingered  among  the  dells  and 


A  SOLITARY  RIDE  ON  THE  PRAIRIE.  253 

dingles   of  my  native  land — those  forests,   and   those 
grand  old  hills. 

But  during  this  ride  I  saw  for  the  first  time  those 
mysterious  mounds,  the  "  Tumuli  of  the  West."  Little 
hillocks  they  seemed  long,  and  narrow,  and  too  regular 
to  owe  their  existence  to  the  freaks  of  nature.  For  two 
or  three  miles  they  were  scattered  along  at  little  dis 
tances  from  each  other,  and  my  fancy  was  very  busy  in 
imagining  their  origin,  and  wondering  concerning  the 
strange  people  who  moulded  them.  But  fancy,  how 
ever  far  it  Wandered,  and  however  frequent  its  queries, 
could  bring  me  back  no  answer. 

At  nightfall  we  stopped  "  to  water  the  horses"  at  a 
genuine  log  cabin  of  the  prairie,  and  I  ran  in  to  take  a 
peep.  How  true  that  one  half  the  world  knows  not 
how  the  other  half  lives.  There  were  two  rooms,  with 
no  other  floor  than  the  native  earth  ;  the  logs  of  the  roof 
and  ceiling  were  just  as  nature  made  them  ;  there  was 
a  bed  in  each  of  the  three  corners,  and  a  stove  in  the 
fourth,  upon  which  were  roasting,  and  baking,  and  boil 
ing,  goose  and  quail  and  Prairie  chicken,  with  all  the  et 
ceteras  of  a  luxurious  repast.  So  much  more  do  such 
people  care  for  the  palate,  than  for  the  comfort  of  any 
other  portion  of  the  body. 

Tame  animate  of  the  feathered  tribe  were  "  at  roost" 
overhead,  and  all  around  hung  the  paraphernalia  of  the 


254  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

bipeds  and  four-footed  things  who  lodged  "  within  and 
round  about." 

I  had  only  time  for  a  glance  when  "  all  was  ready," 
and  on  we  went.  The  prairie  fires  were  blazing  at  a 
distance  in  every  direction,  and  more  and  more  strange 
and  desolate  it  seemed.  But  my  companions  proved 
very  harmless,  and  did  not  address  unto  me  a  word, 

during  the  whole  way  to  K ,  where  they  deposited 

me  upon  the  platform  of  a  hotel  in  the  midst  of  a  multi 
tude,  I  being  the  only  woman. 

I  was  guided  up  stairs  into  the  reception  room,  in 
which  were  two  beds  and  a  lounge,  a  bureau,  a  stove, 
arid  three  rocking  chairs,  with  various  other  conveni 
ences.  This  room  opened  into  a  large  hall  "  where 
men  did  seem  to  congregate."  A  woman  in  this  region 
is  always  a  lion,  and  must  expect  to  be  treated  like  one. 
I  was  no  sooner  seated  than  the  door  opened,  and  in 
stalked  a  would-be  gentleman,  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  and  a  cigar  in  his  mouth.  He  walked  back 
and  forth  very  leisurely,  viewing  me  from  top  to  toe,  till 
he  was  satisfied,  (I  conclude,)  and  then  walked  out,  to 
make  room  for  another,  who  followed  his  example,  as 
did  five  or  six  more.  Thinking  endurance  no  longer  a 
virtue,  I  arose  and  asked  for  my  room. 

To  reach  it,  I  was  conducted  through  same  hall, 
the  gentlemen  forming  a  phalanx  on  each  side  for  me  to 
pass,  and  making  the  best  use  of  their  eyes  they  could 


A  SOLITARY  RIDE  ON  THE  PRAIRIE.  255 

in  so  short  a  time.  Then  up  a  "pair  of  rickety  stairs 
through  a  bed-room,  and  finally  into  my  own.  Dear 
me  !  weary  and  worn  as  I  was,  I  despaired  of  finding 
rest  in  such  a  place. 

The  room  must  have  been  proof  against  brooms  and 
dusters,  and  the  bed  against  water.  There  were  lying 
about  such  articles  as  I  had  not  been  accustomed  to 
seeing  in  ladies'  sleeping  apartments  !  and  which  prompt 
ed  me  to  be  sure  the  door  was  secured  against  all  pos 
sibility  of  ingress. 

Every  moment  the  boat  was  expected  on  which  I  was 
to  take  passage  for  St.  Louis,  so  I  had  no  time  to  sleep, 
yet  I  could  not  keep  awake.  My  nap  was  only  a  sea 
son  of  horrible  visions,  by  which  I  was  not  in  the  least 
refreshed,  and  seemed  an  age,  but  I  found  could  only 
have  been  a  few  moments,  when  I  was  called,  for  the 
"  boat  was  ready." 

Upon  opening  my  door,  I  found  the  floor  of  the 
adjoining  room  so  thickly  strewn  with  human  beings 
that  I  could  with  difficulty  find  my  way,  and  when  I 
landed  in  the  great  hall,  lo  !  the  multitude  was  still 
there,  only  having  changed  a  standing  far  a  recumbent 
position,  and  up  popped  a  hundred  of  these  same  black 
heads  to  stare  at  me  again.  I  opened  the  first  door 
which  met  my  eye,  and  found  myself  in  the  dining-room ; 
with  a  feeling  of  relief  I  seated  myself  in  the  nearest 
chair,  thinking  "  I  am  certainly  safe  here." 


256  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

Soon  I  heard  a  coughing  and  sneezing  that  promised 
anything  but  solitude,  and  started  up  to  see  "  what 
now  1"  My  consternation  was  not  diminished  when  I 
beheld  on  the  floor  behind  the  table,  a  row  of  cots,  and 
fifty  more  black  heads,  and  a  hundred  staring  eyes. 
Alas,  what  should  I  do  ?  not  a  woman  to  be  seen  or 
heard  of. 

I  opened  a  door  to  depart,  and  found  it  leading  up 
a  dark,  narrow  staircase,  which  offered  anything  but 
hope  of  relief.  I  opened  another  which  presented  to  nne 
a  chasm  which  certainly  reminded  me  of  the  bottomless 
pit  1  There  were  no  more,  and  I  sat  down  in  hopeless 
imprisonment. 

Soon  I  heard  a  step  and  ran  to  the  hall  stair-case  to 
speak.  I  saw  a  man,  but  he  was  standing  and  walk 
ing,  which  was  a  little  encouraging. 

"  Where  shall  I  go,"  said   I  in  accents  of  misery. 

"  Down  here,"  said  he,  and  he  led  me  to  the  bar-room  ! 
There  was  a  blazing  fire,  which  was  another  comfort, 
for  I  was  nearly  frozen ;  there  were  also  plenty  of  men, 
but  they  were  sitting,  and  I  again  took  courage.  They 
were  chewing  and  smoking,  and  spitting  and  swearingj 
and  there  were  plenty  of  evidences,  that  they  had  been 
drinking.  But  I  never^fell  into  the  company  of  even 
such  men  when  they  did  not  immediately  attempt  to 
assume  a  decent  deportment.  If  they  would  only  wear 
it  all  the  time,  how  much  better  it  would  fit !  They  were 


A  SOLITARY  RIDE  ON   THE  PRAIRIE.  257 

very  civil  to  me,  and,  after  half  an  hour  in  their  compa 
ny,  I  was  again  reminded  that  the  boat  would  soon 
leave. 

"  Over  moor,  over  mire, 

Through  bush,  and  through  brier," 

I  was  escorted  on  my  winding  way  to  the  river.  It 
was  very  dark,  my  guide  was  a  stranger,  and  our 
walk  half  a  mile  in  length.  Many  were  the  resolutions 
I  made  never  to  travel  "  after  this  wise"  again ;  but  I 
reached  the  boat  in  safety,  and  was  rejoiced  to  greet  a 
woman  once  more,  though  as  state-room  companion, 
she  was  not  the  most  agreeable,  being  a  Dutch  servant- 
girl,  and  none  of  the  tidiest ! 


nnHERE  is  a  tiny  creature  nestling  in  a  little  crib  by 
JL  my  side,  and  every  sound  is  hushed  lest  something 
should  disturb  its  slumbers ;  the  room  is  dark,  lest 
there  should  come  a  sunbeam  and  rest  upon  its  eyelid  ; 
it  cannot  move  a  hand  or  turn  its  little  head  but  the 
mother  starts  up  to  see  if  some  evil  has  not  come  nigh 
unto  it,  for  it  is  her  child,  her  first  born,  and  seems  to 
her  the  most  beautiful  of  all  the  gifts  her  heavenly  Fa 
ther  has  bestowed. 

And  what  is  its  name  ?     Oh  it  has  not   yet  a  name, 

(258) 


WHAT'S  IN  A  NAME  ?  259 

though  a  hundred  have  been  syllabled  and  sung  to  see 
if  they  were  musical  enough  for  their  baby ;  with  each 
there  has  been  some  fault,  and  now  that  the  matter  has 
become  so  important  to  them  it  seems  strange  that  the 
English  language  should  be  so  meagrely  supplied  with 
names  suitable  for  such  a  baby ! 

The  whole  catalogue  has  been  ransacked,  but  one  is 
too  long  and  another  too  short,  and  another  too  com 
mon,  and  another  very  well  for  a  grown  up  person,  but 
not  at  all  proper  for  such  a  cunning  little  creature  as 
this.  It  must  be  one  that  can  be  shortened  and  petted 
easily  whilst  it  is  necessary  to  talk  baby  talk,  and  then 
it  must  be  one  that  can  call  her  easily  when  she  begins 
to  go  patting  round  on  her  little  feet ;  but  then  it  must 
be  one  that  she  will  like  herself  when  she  is  a  young 
lady — one  which  her  lover  would  like,  and  especially  her 
husband  !  Let'^  see,  Caty  and  Minnie  and  Mary — but 
one  is  too  fanciful,  and  the  second  found  only  in  books, 
and  Mary  is  pretty  and  a  good  substantial  name,  a 
Bible  name ;  but  every  body  has  a  Mary.  We  must 
find  something  else.  Again  the  catalogue  is  called 
over,  and  again  and  again,  but  without  success.  What 
shall  we  call  the  baby  ? 

The  father  comes  in  every  night  and  clasps  one  of 
those  little  hands  upon  his  forefinger  ;  and  really  thinks 
there  never  was  such  a  curious  piece  of  workmanship. 
"  What  beautiful  little  dimples  are  nestling  all  over  it, 


260  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

what  perfect  nails  !— just  see  that  little  thumb.  Oh,  is 
it  not  wonderful!  But  what  shall  we  call  her,  wife  ? 
we  must  have  a  name  :"  and  then  he,  conceited,  selfish 
man,  goes  on  thinking  (I  see  it  all  over  his  face)  there 
never  has  been  one  invented  which  it  would  not  be 
almost  wicked  to  bestow  upon  such  a  baby  !  But  here 
the  prosy  old  nurse  exclaims,  "  Fudge,  what's  in  a 
name?  do  give  her  a  good  old  fashioned  Christian 
name,  and  if  she  never  does  anything  to  disgrace  it,  you 
may  think  yourselves  well  off." 

Now  you  should  see  the  indignation  in  that  father's 
face  at  the  idea  that  his  child  should  do  aught  to  dis 
grace  her  name,  whatever  it  may  be.  Alas  !  how  many 
fathers  have  thought  thus,  and  lived  to  blush  at  the 
name  they  bestowed  upon  a  daughter  in  her  helpless 
innocence. 

Things  are  at  this  crisis 'when  there  is  ushered  in  a 
venerable  grey-haired  man,  who  has  almost  finished  his 
three-score  years  and  ten,  a  clergyman  who  has  been  all 
his  life  contemplating  things  solemn  and  divine,  and  to 
him  the  matter  is  presented.  "  What  shall  we  name 
the  baby?"  All  this  while  it  has  been  seeming  inex 
pressibly  ludicrous  to  me  that  two  sensible  people 
should  make  it  a  matter  of  so  much  consequence,  and 
look  so  very  wise,  and  talk  as  if  the  fate  of  nations  were 
depending  on  a  decision  which  I  thought  I  could  make 
in  five  minutes  and  say  no  more  about  it ;  but  when  this 


WHAT'S  IN  A  NAME  ?  26 1 

dignified  man,  to  whom  I  have  never  dared  to  address 
anything  but  monosyllables,  is  seriously  invited  to  give 
his  opinion  upon  naming  this  little  insignificant  thing,  1 
am  ready  to  laugh  outright  and  to  blush  for  their  folly. 

But  lam  immediately  reproved  by  the  aged  man, 
who  very  solemnly  repeats,  "  A  name  for  the  baby  ! — 
it  is  indeed  a  very  important  matter,  and  one  over  which 
you  should  pray  and  think  seriously,  for  the  name  is  to 
be  registered  in  heaven  !"  I  had  not  thought  of  this, 
but  instantly  saw  that,  looked  upon  in  this  light,  very 
solemn  thoughts  must  be  suggested,  and  most  solemnly 
did  the  good  minister  endeavor  to  impress  it  upon  our 
minds  as  he  went  on  picturing  the  Recording  Angel 
standing  by  the  great  book,  in  which  were  written  the 
names  of  all  the  people  of  every  nation,  tongue  and  kin 
dred,  and  underneath  each  the  "  idle  words"  for  which 
we  were  to  "  give  an  account !" 

The  little  "  muling,  puling  infant"  was  now  trans 
formed  into  an  immortal  spirit,  and  we  looked  forward 
to  the  time  when  she  would  be  an  inhabitant  of  heaven, 
and  her  name  would  be  spoken  by  angels  and  archan 
gels  and  all  the  saints  of  light. 

The  words  of  the  minister  made  a  deep  impression 
upon  the  heart  of  the  mother,  and  though  she  was  far 
from  being  a  thoughtless  woman,  she  now  exclaimed, 
"  I  have  given  birth  to  something  that  will  never  die  : 
how  can  I  fulfill  the  holy  mission  of  training  a  spirit 


262  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

for  immortality  ?"  in  a  tone  which  implied  a  conscious 
ness  of  her  responsibility  as  she  had  never  felt  it  before. 
Then  my  memory  recalled  a  family  picture,  where  aged 
parents  were  surrounded  by  sons  and  daughters  grown 
up  to  manhood  and  womanhood,  and  all  seemingly 
happy  and  prosperous  ;  where  I  could  not  discover  any 
cause  why  sadness  should  sic  upon  the  mother's  brow, 
and  a  smile  scarcely  ever  lighten  her  features.  I  heard 
the  sigh  that  escaped  her  bosom,  and  listened  to  the 
words  which  fell  from  her  lips,  sometimes  mourning  that 
she  had  ever  formed  the  tie  which  gave  her  a  wife's  and 
a  parent's  duties,  and  always  advising  others  to  assume 
them  not. 

Though  she  was  now  old,  I  saw  her  the  idol  of  her 
husband's  affections,  and  children  "rising  up  to  call  her 
blessed,"  and  all  who  knew  her  regarding  her  with 
peculiar  honor,  and  I  said,  "  Why  is  it  that  she  is  not  hap 
py,  and  does  not  consider  herself  highly  favored  among 
women  ?"  Fortune  has  smiled  upon  her ;  everything  in 
her  outward  life  is  pleasant;  she  is  a  Christian,  and  her 
children  are  "heirs  of  the  same  precious  faith."  It 
must  be  an  unhappy  spirit  that  is  not  cheerful  and  even 
joyous  in  a  home  like  hers. 

But  I  did  not  know  all.  There  was  one  whom  I 
had  not  seen,  and  whose  name  I  had  never  heard.  He 
had  been  consigned  to  a  drunkard's  grave  !  They  never 
alluded  to  him  now.  That  mother  needed  not  to  be 


WHAT'S  IN  A  NAME  ?  263 

reminded  that  she  had  given  birth  to  an  immortal  spirit. 
His  name  was  registered  in  heaven — but  ah  !  it  was  not 
written  afterwards  in  the  "  Lamb's  book  of  life." 

Oh,  how  can  there  ever  be  a  thoughtless  mother — one 
who  forgets  that  she  has  "given  birth  to  something 
that  will  never  die" — a  spirit  to  be  trained  for  immo  r 
tality ! 

Let  those  remember  who  are  to  "  name  the  baby" 
that  the  Recording  Angel  will  write  the  word  down,  arid 
on  them  it  depends  whether,  on  "  the  great  day,"  it  is 
called  among  those  who  enter  the  realms  of  light  and 
bliss,  or  is  blotted  out  forever  1 


0ton  f  ittle  Cmrar. 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  FRENCH  OF  BERANGER. 


I  LIKE  not  the  world  and  its  fashion, 

I  love  lonely  solitude  best, 
Those  gay  whirling  pleasures  are  thraldom, 

Retirement  alone  offers  rest. 
Enclosed  in  my  own  little  boudoir, 

I  am  blithe  as  the  bird  on  the  tree, 
Oh  give  me  my  own  little  corner, 

And  from  every  dull  care  I  am  free. 

(264) 


MY  OWN  LITTLE  CORNER.  265 

There  I  go  with  the  soldier  to  battle, 

And  ponder  the  affairs  of  the  State ; 
I  weep  o'er  the  people's  misfortunes, 

And  assign  to  the  rulers  their  fate. 
I  look  to  the  future  with  pleasure, 

And  gaily  it  smile  th  on  me, 
Oh  leave  me  my  own  little  corner, 

And  from  every  dull  care  I  am  free. 

There  too,  with  the  wand  of  a  fairy, 

I  lavish  good  gifts  on  the  poor, 
I  rear  noble  trophies  of  glory, 

And  the  worthy  to  honor  allure ! 
I  rule  in  the  councils  of  princes, 

And  pure  are  the  laws  they  decree ! 
Oh  leave  me  my  own  little  corner, 

And  from  every  dull  care  I  am  free. 

And  there  like  a  silken  winged  seraph. 

My  fancy  floats  sportive  and  gay. 
And  ever  around  me  is  strewing, 

Bright  garlands  she  wreathes  by  the  way  : 
Ah  yes,  from  the'  world  and  its  pleasures, 

My  heart  ever  gladly  would  flee, 
Oh  leave  me  my  own  little  corner, 

And  from  every  dull  care  I  am  free. 
12 


266  THE    MYRTLE  WREATH. 

With  a  patriot's  love  for  my  country, 

I  offer  to  heaven  my  prayer, 
That  she  may  be  ever  protected, 

And  the  richest  of  blessings  may  share 
Then  do  not,  I  pray  thee,  rebuke  me, 

Though  musing  alone  I  may  be, 
Oh,  leave  me  my  own  little  corner, 

And  from  every  dull  care  I  am  free. 


Brother  geimic  in  it  fane  Carncr, 


£»T  HATE  old  maids;  she  is  an  old  maid,  I  hate 
JL  the  sight  of  her." 

This  was  a  sentence  to  which  I  listened  in  my  lone 
corner,  and  I  looked  around  to  see  by  whom  and  of 
whom  such  words  were  spoken  in  such  bitterness. 

I  saw,  not  far  off,  a  quiet  unobtrusive  woman,  plainly 
but  very  neatly  dressed,  with  an  expression  of  refined 
and  subdued  sadness  upon  her  face,  and  a  gentleness  in 
her  manners,  which  indicate  to  all  who  know  these  signs 
that  her  life  had  been  passed  among  the  high-bred,  and 

that  pure  feelings  and  lofty  sentiments  were  hers. 

(267) 


268  THE    MYKTLE    WREATH. 

I  have  watched  her  in  her  walks  among  the  flowers 
and  in  the  groves,  and  noticed  the  true  appreciation  of 
the  beautiful  which  she  manifested  in  her  admiration 
and  I  have  listened  to  her  conversation  with  those  who 
know  her,  and  been  delighted  with  her  quiet  humor, 
originality  and  quick  discernment. 

Two  gay  young  girls  are  walking  up  and  down  the 
saloon  radiant  with  silk  and  tinsel,  and  as  they  pass 
they  turn  their  heads  with  scorn,  when  about  to  meet 
the  glance  of  the  quiet  dignified  lady  who  knows  no 
reason  why  they  should  refuse  her  friendly  greetings, 
and  therefore  offers  them  a  bow  or  smile  of  recognition 
as  a  mark  of  interest  in  their  youth  and  happiness. 

Very  haughtily  they  quicken  their  steps,  and  toss 
their  heads,  and  the  one  with  gay  streamers  exclaims 
"  an  old  maid,  I  hate  the  sight  of  one." 

I  am  not  a  prophet,  but  if  I  were,  I  would  risk  my 
reputation  upon  the  prediction  that  ere  twenty  years 
have  passed,  her  ears  will  listen  to  that  which  will  pain 
them  more ! 

Let  me  tell  you  why  Miss  B.  is  an  "  old  maid."  She 
was  once  young  like  you,  though  not  like  you  haughty, 
vain  and  vulgar  !  She  had  a  fresh  warm  heart,  worth  a 
thousand  such  as  yours.  She  had  beauty,  too,  and 
wealth. 

I  cannot  add  that  she  had  around  her  a  crowd  of  ad- 


ANOTHER  REVERIE  IN  A  LONE  CORNER.   269 

mirers,  but  if  you  lingered  a  little  more  politely,  you 
might  see  upon  one  linger  a  ring,  the  only  one  she 
•wears,  which  betokens  an  engagement.  Yes,  she  was 
betrothed. 

In  three  weeks  she  was  to  stand  at  the  altar  with  one 
who  was  also  young,  and  who  had  loved  her  long  and 
truly,  but  alas  for  earthly  hopes,  the  evening  that  was 
to  see  her  a  happy  bride,  found  her  alone  by  his  grave. 

"It  is  a  pity,"  exclaimed  the  village  gossips,  ''that 
they  were  not  married,  for  then  she  could  talk  about 
him,  and  it  would  look  so  different  to  the  world." 

Yes,  it  is  a  pity  that  the  world  should  have  a  stand 
ard  of  propriety  so  different  from  what  is  right,  and 
pure,  and  holy.  Is  she  not  a  widow  ?  Were  their 
hearts  not  sealed  by  the  holiest  of  all  bonds  ?  Why 
should  she  not  speak  of  such  a  love,  as  if  it  were  not 
hallowed  in  the  sight  of  Heaven,  as  truly  as  if  the  out 
ward  seal  had  been  affixed  to  their  union  ? 

She  did  not  "  sit  among  the  mourners,"  when  the 
last  respects  were  paid  to  the  departed,  though  she  was 
the  one  who  mourned  most  deeply.  No,  this  would  not 
have  been  maidenly  decorum.  She  did  not  speak  of 
her  grief,  this  she  knew  would  not  be  considered  proper. 
But  she  did  not  feed  upon  her  sorrow  till  she  became  a 
useless  misanthrope.  She  went  about  doing  good, 
cheerful  and  seemingly  happy,  knowing  that  she  must 


270  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

ever  be  one  of  those  desolate  ones,  for  whom  the  world 
has  so  little  sympathy. 

To  how  many  homes  has  shebeen  an  angel  of  mercy — 
into  how  many  hearts  has  she  poured  the  oil  of  healing 
— how  sweetly  has  she  counselled  in  the  hours  of  adver 
sity — how  kindly  chid  in  the  hour  of  sin.  A  sweet 
savor  ever  rising  to  Heaven,  her  good  deeds  have  been. 
She  is  not  yet  old,  and  if  married  would  be  called  a 
"  young  woman."  A  long  life  of  loneliness  she  has  yet 
to  live,  with  her  "  heart  ever  hungering,"  for  no  true 
woman's  heart  was  ever  satisfied  \vith  aught  but  love — 
something  which  she  is  severely  censured  for  not  feeling, 
and  more  censured  for  speaking  !  God  made  her  so, 
and  she  should  not  blush  to  own  it,  and  this  desolation, 
with  the  world's  unfeeling  scorn,  makes  life  a  sad  pil 
grimage. 

From  that  lone  corner  I  often  saw  another  in  those 
deep  weeds  which  always  excite  sympathy  and  purchase 
respect.  They  were  worn  by  one  who  was  but  a  few 
months  a  wife,  and  who  knew  when  she  became  one 
that  she  must  soon  be  a  widow.  She  knew  the  magic 
of  the  title,  and  the  deference  the  world  would  pay  to 
it.  The  vows  were  breathed  without  the  love  which 
can  make  them  holy,  and  there  was  no  grief  in  the  heart, 
when  the  tie  was  sundered  which  bound  her  to  an  un 
willing  obedience. 

Gaily  she  smiles,  and  her  smiles  are  not  met  with 


ANOTHER  REVERIE  IN  A  LONE  CORNER.   271 

coldness.  The  world  permits  her  to  talk  of  her  sorrow 
and  it  will  never  prey  upon  her  spirits.  Grief  will  not 
mar  her  beauty  ;  she  is  still  fresh  and  blooming,  though 
older  in  years  than  she  with  the  widowed  heart. 

Ah,  there  is  another  world  where  worth  is  weighed 
in  the  true  balance.  The  thoughtless  belle  will  not 
tread  with  that  haughty  step,  the  streets  of  the  Heavenly 
city.  These  saloons  are  brilliant,  and  these  forms  beau 
tiful  to  the  animal  vision,  but  there  is  a  beauty  of  the 
spirit  which  transcends  it  all. 

Ye  desolate  ones,  whose  hearts  are  heavy,  those 
whom  you  loved  have  gone  before,  and  the  trials  you 
meet  in  journeying  life's  pilgrimage,  \vith  the  gross  and 
selfish  ones  of  earth,  are  "  like  the  furnace  to  silver,  and 
the  fire  to  gold;"  but  life  does  not  last  always,  and  he 
who  sitteth  on  the  throne  and  judgeth>  looketh  upon  tho 
heart. 

In  the  palaces  of  the  New  Jerusalem  will  be  assem 
bled  the  meek  and  lowly  ones  of  earth,  who  have  "  suf 
fered  for  Jesus'  sake" — their  forms  will  be  arrayed  in 
the  "  white  and  shining  robes,"  their  hands  will  tune 
the  "  golden  harps,"  and  their  brows  will  wear  the  jew 
eled  crown. 

"  There  will  be  neither  marrying  nor  giving  in  mar 
riage" — neither  rich  nor  poor — dashing  belles  with  gay 
streamers,  nor  hateful  old  maids  in  Heaven. 


Stern's  f  0iL 


HOW  many  sensible  husbands  do  I  know,  who 
think  a  woman's  toil  is  nothing,  and  deserves  no 
reward  because  she  is  not  engaged  in  coining  money. 

They  cannot  perceive  that  it  is  any  labor  to  take  five 
thousand  steps  round  the  cooking  stove  to  prepare 
breakfast  for  a  dozen  people,  or  as  many  more  for  din 
ner  and  for  supper,  and  twice  as  many  more  for  the 
various  other  duties  she  has  to  perform. 

Just  look  with  me  into  that  neat  and  comfortable 
house  on  the  hill,  and  watch  for  one  d;iy  a  prudent 


A  WOMAN'S  TOIL.  273 

industrious  woman,  at  her  daily  labors.  At  five  o'clock 
yes,  often  at  four,  you  may  see  her  gliding  softly  around, 
for  "  fear  of  disturbing  the  little  ones,"  sweeping  and, 
dusting,  and  "  putting  things  to  rights"  and  ere  she  has 
half  finished,  some  half  a  dozen  little  heads  are  popping 
up  and  crying,  "  mother,  mother,"  and  she  must  run 
and  "  dress  the  children." 

It  is  no  work  to  pick  up  their  frocks  and  pinafores — 
to  wash  them  from  top  to  toe,  and  tie  a  hundred  strings 
• — to  patiently  answer  a  hundred  questions,  and  settle 
as  many  little  disputes.  It  is  no  labor  to  run  up  and 
down  stairs  fifty  times  "  to  put  away  the  things  after 
breakfast,"  and  it  is  only  play  to  stand  two  hours  at  the 
dishtub.  It  is  only  recreation  to  stop  and  wash  baby 
and  dress  him,  and  get  him  to  sleep,  and  in  the  mean 
time  to  fit  out  three  or  four  who  are  hopping  and  skip 
ping  and  jumping,  and  fretting  and  quarreling,  too,  per 
haps,  for  school. 

But  when  all  this  is  fairly  is  over,  she  has  nothing  to  do 
but  rest.  Her  gude  man  slept  soundly  till  the  breakfast 
bell  rang,  and  then  he  washed  and  shaved,  a  little  dis 
turbed  by  the  noise  of  the  children  to  be  sure,  and  after 
breakfast  he  seated  himself  in  the  great  chair,  with  his 
left  foot  comfortably  resting  on  his  right  knee,  to  read 
the  newspapers  and  pick  his  teeth  ! 

JBy  the  time  he  has  finished  these  important  manly 

operations,  it  is  time  to  go  to  the  office,  and  he  takes  his 
12* 


274  THE    MYRTLE  WREATH. 

hat  and  cane  and  sallies  forth.  His  business  for  three  or 
four  hours,  is  "  harassing,  embarrassing,  perplexing  and 
wearing,"  and  when  he  returns  to  dinner  it  is  right  and 
proper  that  he  should  be  a  little  cross,  if  it  is  not  ready 
at  the  moment,  if  it  is  not  cooked  to  his  taste,  and  every 
thing  is  not  in  order  as  Mrs.  B.  "  knows  he  wishes  and 
expects  to  find  it." — "  What  a  slave  he  is  to  his  wife 
and  children." 

After  dinner  he  spends  three  or  four  hours  more  in 
that  same  brain  racking,  and,  very  likely,  soul  destroy 
ing  business,  and  then  it  is  strange  that  every  body 
should  not  be  quiet  when  he  comes  home — he  needs 
rest.  His  wife  has  not  known  a  moment's  cessation 
from  toil  and  care  and  anxiety,  but  that  is  nothing,  it  is 
her  duty  to  be  cheerful  and  patient,  and  long  suffering 
and  forbearing.  She  is  a  woman — her  labor  is  of  no 
account,  it  brings  no  money. 

The  evening  he  spends  in  the  great  chair,  reading  or 
sleeping,  or  he  goes  to  lecture,  or  to  have  a  plesant  chat 
with  his  neighbors,  and  when  he  pleases  he  goes  to  bed, 
and  sleeps  soundly  till  morning.  He  is  paid  for  what  he 
does,  and  therefore  it  is  labor. 

The  wife  has  never  once  been  out  to  breathe  the  air, 
or  enjoy  the  sunshine — when  not  upon  her  feet  she  has 
toiled  with  her  needle, 

"  At  band  and  gusset  and  seam, 
And  seam  and  gusset  and  band." 


A  WOMAN'S  TOIL.  275 

And  long  into  the  weary  night  perhaps,  has  she  lean 
ed  over  the  thankless  task,  "  because  the  children  were 
asleep  and  she  could  work  undisturbed."  But  surely 
that  is  not  toil,  to  put  the  needle  through  and  through 
— to  patch  and  mend  and  sew  on  buttons. 

All  night  she  has  the  care  of  her  baby,  and  knows  no 
dreamless  sleep.  A  weight  is  ever  on  her  mind,  and 
thus  it  is  through  days  and  months  and  years.  Is  it 
strange  that  her  brow  is  furrowed  and  her  cheek  hollow  ? 
Her  husband  is  distressed  that  she  should  grow  old. — 
Why  cannot  she  remain  always  fresh  and  young  and 
fair  ?  She  ought  to  walk  in  the  open  air — women  stay 
in  the  house  too  much.  He  does  not  believe  it  need  take 
all  her  time  to  do  the  work.  He  cannot  afford  to  hire 
"  help"  it  "is paying  out  money." 

He  hires  a  man  to  open  the  shutters  and  sweep  the 
office,  whilst  he  is  sleeping  and  picking  his  teeth,  but 
then  it  would  not  be  proper  for  him  to  perform  that 
menial  labor.  Sweeping  and  dusting  and  scrubbing, — 
weary  days  and  wakeful  nights — this  is  woman's  sphere ! 

And  when  one  wife  has  worn  herself  into  the  grave, 
and  the  green  mound  has  covered  her,  why  he  can 
easily  get  another,  for  there  are  plenty  more  who  have 
nothing  else  to  do,  and  it  is  proverbial  that  the  second 
does  get  a  little  more  mercy  than  the  first !  And  it  is 
proverbial  that  men  grow  old  with  scarcely  a  foot-print 
upon  their  brows,  whilst  women  fade  and  wither  and 


276  THE   MYRTLE    WREATH. 

fall  like  autumn  leaves ;  but  there  is  no  reason,  for  their 
labor  is  nothing,  and  the  "  wearing,  harassing,  perplex 
ing  toil,"  is  all  performed  by  men,  and  they  earn  all  the 
money  ! 


art  f  Me 


M 


Y  way  led  me  through  one  of  the  by-lanes  of  the 
Great  City  in  ray  evening  walk,  and  as  it  was 
just  at  nightfall,  I  met  at  almost  every  step  the  laborer 
"  hieing  from  his  toil."  It  is  Saturday  night,  and  almost 
every  one  had  in  his  hand  the  reward  of  his  week's 
labor, — a  fish,  a  basket  of  potatoes,  or  a  bag  of  meal ; 
and  in  many  countenances  I  could  read  that  pleasant 
and  so  visible  expression,  "  I'm  going  home  to  my  wife 
and  children  and  a  day  of  rest."  All  around,  in  the 

street  and  on  the  sidewalk,  were  the  children  of  these 

(277) 


278  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

toiling  parents,  "  some  in  rags,  and  some  in  tags,  and 
some  in  velvet  gowns."  On  one  corner  I  noticed  a  lit 
tle  boy  with  sun-bleached  head  and  sun-tanned  face,  on 
which  there  was  not  even  the  careless  joy  of  childhood, 
and  soon  there  came  a  coarse  and  dogged  looking  man, 
and  in  a  voice  of  cold  and  grating  harshness,  I  heard 
him  callout,  "  BILL,  come  home  !"  Instantly  he  obeyed  ; 
but  there  was  no  smile  of  gladness  at  his  father's  coming 
— and  he  did  not  run  to  take  his  hand,  and  fill  his  ears 
with  childish  prattle,  as  happy  children  do,  but,  with  a 
look  of  crouching  fear,  he  lagged  behind, — his  bare  feet 
red  with  cold  and  black  with  dirt,  and  in  his  eye  a  look 
which  said,  "  Some  day  I'll  be  a  man, — and  then  !" 
Yes,  I  thought,  a  miniature  loafer,  a  thief  perhaps,  and 
rowdy. 

I  walked  along,  and  soon  found  them  at  their  home. 
Oh,  that  this  sweet  word  should  ever  be  applied  to 
place  so  wretched — and  from  it  issued  forth  a  woman, 
the  wife,  and  mother,  more  unseemly,  coarse  and  fear- 
inspiring  than  the  father.  The  words  of  greeting  were 
reproaches,  and  all  around  were  the  proofs  of  wretched 
ness  and  sin.  Soon  the  child  received  a  blow  for  not 
doing  what  he  did  not  know  was  required,  and  when  I 
was  a  long  way  off,  his  deafening  screams  were  ringing 
in  my  ears. 

I  have  heard  it  said  that  affection  is  one  of  the  fruits 
of  cultivation, — that  the  poor  and  ignorant  are  destitute 


BILL    AND    LITTLE    AMY.  279 

of  the  love  which  softens  the  heart,  and  that  it 
does  not  even  exist  to  bind  kindred — those  of  the  same 
household — to  one  another. 

I  was  pondering  upon  this,  and  wondering  if  it  could 
be  really  so,  when  I  met  a  little  boy  of  twelve  years  old 
or  more,  with  a  wood-saw  upon  his  shoulders ;  and  he, 
too,  was  going  home.  His  face  betokened  maturity  be 
yond  his  years,  and  by  his  dress  he  might  have  been  taken 
for  a  little  Methusaleh,  or  one  of  Noah's  progeny  just 
issuing  from  the  Ark.  His  coat  hung  loosely  about 
his  wasted  form,  and  his  collar  and  cravat  were  evidently 
made  for  one  four  times  his  size. 

But,  though  there  was  every  indication  of  poverty, 
there  was  as  plainly  stamped  refinement  upon  his  face 
and  in  all  his  motions.  Sorrow  and  thought  were  writ 
ten  upon  his  brow.  I  stopped  and  asked  him  where  he 
had  been.  He  looked  up  to  see  if  I  were  friend  or  foe, 
and  what  my  motive  was,  and  then  politely  answered, 
"  I've  been  sawing  wood  all  day  for  a  gentleman 
up  town."  "  And  what  have  you  received  for  pay  ?" 
"  Oh,  meat  and  meal  and  things  to  carry  home."  "  But 
had  you  not  rather  buy  a  hat  or  cap,  or  something  pret 
ty  for  yourself?"  "  Oh  no,"  he  said,  "  I  do  not  care  for 
myself,  if  mother  and  sister  AMY  have  enough." 

I  found  his  home  was  only  a  little  farther  on,  and  so 
I  offered  to  go  with  him  and  see  the  mother  and  sister 
whom  he  loved  so  much.  AH  we  walked  along,  I  wan 


280  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

struck  with  the  correctness  of  his  language  and  the  in 
telligence  he  manifested.  Soon  we  came  to  a  big  old 
shattered  house  occupied  by  many  families  and  in  two 
small  rooms  were  the  mother  and  four  children  we  were 
seeking.  Though  wretchedly  poor  and  destitute,  there 
was  an  air  of  comfort  which  told  that  she  who  presided 
was  a  lady,  and  in  all  their  looks  and  tones  there  was 
proof  that  love  bound  them  to  one  another. 

In  the  corner,  in  a  stuffed  and  very  comfortable-look 
ing  chair  was  little  AMY.  She  had  never  walked  a  step 
or  known  a  moment  free  from  suffering.  Her  face 
was  pale,  and  gleamed  with  that  spiritual  beauty  which 
patient  suffering  always  gives,  and  across  her  brow 
there  came  every  now  and  then  a  shadow  in  which 
were  volumes  of  the  woes  her  little  heart  was  feeling. 
Her  dress  was  thin  and  made  me  shiver  as  the  wind 
came  whistling  by.  I  took  her  little  hand,  and  asked 
her  if  she  was  not  weary  sitting  there,  and  she  said, 
"she  would  like  to  work  to  help  mother  and  brother 
JAMES."  Her  little  brothers  looked  upon  her  as  if  she 
were  a  being  of  higher  order  than  themselves,  and  all 
around  there  seemed  a  pure  and  holy  atmosphere  from 
her  presence. 

She  was  not  cheerful.  She  knew  nothing  of  animal 
happiness.  She  had  never  been  out  in  the  glad  sun 
shine,  or  joined  the  merry  laugh  of  children  on  the  green ; 


BILL    AND    LITTLE    AMY.  281 

but  she  was  patient  and  resigned.  And  I  thought,  they 
are  not  alone  the  useful,  who  toil,  and  strive,  and  win. 
Here  is  a  little  creature  whose  mission  is  to  suffer. 
How  could  a  holier  influence  be  shed  upon  those  little 
boys  ?  "Will  they  not  carry  the  impress  of  her  patient 
smile  and  loving  words  in  all  their  way  through  life  ? 

They  are  practising  self-denial  to  surround  her  with  a 
few  little  comforts ;  and  will  it  not  prepare  them  for  some 
noble  sacrifice,  and  fit  them  for  life's  highest  sphere  ? 
They  go  forth  in  the  morning  with  her  childish  bles 
sing.  She  puts  her  arms  lovingly  round  their  necks 
and  presses  a  kiss  upon  their  cheeks,  and  says  "  Good 
bye,  come  early  home  to-night;"  and  will  not  that 
sweeten  every  hour  of  toil  ?  She  sings  a  song  for  them 
at  night  or  reads  a  story,  and  is  ever  studying  how  to 
show  her  gratitude  ;  and  though  hunger  and  cold  often 
come,  and  they  have  few  of  what  the  world  calls  bles 
sings,  they  are  still  happy,  for  they  love  one  another. 
Those  boys  will  never  be  guilty  of  crime  or  riot ;  and 
then  I  thought  of  little  "  BILL,"  and  almost  wished  he 
had  a  little  sick  and  suffering  sister  to  brighten  his 
coming,  and  shed  her  hallowed  radiance  in  one  corner 
of  his  dark  and  dreary  home. 

To  love  and  suffer — this  has  ever  been  woman's  mis 
sion.  It  is  the  highest,  holiest  of  all  earthly  missions. 
In  the  first  she  is  like  the  angels — those  ministering 


282  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

spirits,  invisible  but  ever  watchful — and  in  both  she  is 
like  Him  who  was  "  meek  and  lowly  ,  and  went  about 
doing  good." 


re  gmtetefi 


IF  you  will  not  ask  me  how  I  came  to  know,  I  will 
tell  you  just  how  it  looked,  that  Bachelor's  Bed 
room.  It  was  a  little  bit  of  a  place,  because  the  landlord 
thought,  as  he  was  only  a  bachelor,  he  did  not  need 
very  spacious  quarters,  and  the  servants  thought  as  he 
was  only  a  bachelor  they  need  not  trouble  themselves 
to  sweep  very  clean,  or  dust  very  nice,  and  besides  it 
was  impossible,  he  "  left  everything  round  so,"  and  imme 
diately  "  turned  everything  topsy  turvy,"  however 

(283) 


284  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

squarely  they  might  arrange  it.  And  so  it  followed 
that  it  looked  very  much  like  a  pig-stye. 

There  was  a  bed  on  which  he  reclined,  whenever 
he  was  weary,  with  a  quilt  which  shiny  black  boots  had 
converted  into  "  all  of  a  color,"  and  "  all  askew."  There 
was  a  trunk,  a  very  handsome  thirty  dollar  trunk, 
which  when  deposited  upon  the  platform  of  the  hotel, 
indicated  a  gentleman  who  was  well  aware  that  people 
are  often  judged  by  the  outsides  of  things,  and  his 
well-brushed  coat  and  Genin  hat  betrayed  the  same  re 
gard  to  appearances. 

So  there  was  a  hat  box,  in  which  to  preserve  the 
glossy  beaver  from  the  touch  of  "  time's  effacing  fin 
gers,"  and  there  was  a  carpet  bag,  "hanging  on  a  nail 
overhead."  In  one  corner  was  a  heap  of  newspa 
pers  : — the  "  Times"  and  "  Hume  Journal,"  two  volumes 
of"  Harper,"  the  "  Knickerbocker"  and  the  "  Washing^ 
ton  Union,"  (strange  medley,)  and — a  pair  of  boots  ! 
In  another  corner  comes  a  stack  of  newspapers — the 
"  Boston  Journal"  and  "  Saturday  Courier,"  "  Putnam's 
Monthly"  and — a  pair  of  slippers,  which  must  have 
been  wrought  by  more  delicate  hands  than  his !  In 
another  corner  were  half  a  dozen  dickeys,  a  checked 
cotton  cravat,  a  white  vest  and  other  things,  ready  for 
the  laundry,  and  a  pair  of  brogans,  in  which  his  feet 
looked  "  amazing  neat,"  but  to  the  corner  they  were 
very  unbecoming. 


THE  BACHELOR'S  BEDROOM.      285 

All  around  on  nails  were  various  articles  of  a  ward 
robe,  of  which  I  never  learned  the  names,  but  looking 
very  much  as  if  the  man  himself  were  suspended  there 
and  on  the  table  was  a  box  of  "  Giraud's  Medicated 
Soap,"  for  pimples,  (he  is  very  anxious  to  look  well ;) 
one  box  of "  Custerdow's  Excelsior  Fluid  Hair  Dye," 
(why  does  he  care  to  look  young  ;)  a  box  of  pills,  (he  is 
evidently  dyspeptic;)  hair  brushes,  nail  brushes,  and 
clothes  brushes,  lying  about  in  most  inelegant  confu 
sion.  And  there  are  two  or  three  books,  "  Salad  for 
the  Solitary,"  "  Reveries  of  a  Bachelor/'  and  "  Advice 
to  Young  Husbands,"  (there  is  a  far-off  vision  in  his  mind 
of  better  days.)  Dear  sir,  why  are  you  content  with 
visions  only  ?  Why,  I  could  tell  you  of  a  dozen  pairs 
of  bright  eyes,  that  would  see  every  particle  of  dust  in 
an  instant,  and  a  dozen  pairs  of  fair  hands  that  would 
"  set]  your  room  to  rights,"  and  make  a  little  paradise  of 
it  in  half  an  hour,  and  all  for  what  it  would  make  you 
a  thousand  times  richer  rather  than  poorer  to  give. 
"  Just  look  on  this  picture  and  then  on  that." 
Do  you  see  that  snowy  quilt,  all  smooth  and  nice,  and 
those  pillow  cases  with  crimped  frills  not  a  bit  tumbled. 
Do  you  see  that  toilet  table  with  its  muslin  drapery,  and 
that  little  vase  of  flowers  in  the  centre, — that  little  box, 
in  which  are  arranged  all  the  necessaries  of  a  toilet  ap 
paratus,  so  that  you  "  can  find  it  all  in  the  dark."  Just 
peep  into  those  drawers  and  envy  the  man  who  has  his 


286  THE  MYRTLE  WllEATII. 

dickeys  "  all  in  a  row,"  his  cravats  all  folded  and  in  one 
place,  his  socks  all  mended  and  his  buttons  all  sewed 
on,  and  no  trouble  to  him.  The  newspapers  are  just  as 
plenty,  and  there  are  as  many  magazines,  but  they  are 
filed  and  numbered,  and  "  laid  on  the  upper  shelf."  The 
clothes  are  in  the  closet,  and  the  boots  and  slippers — 
where  they  should  be  ! 

But  what  makes  the  difference?  Do  you  not  see  that 
cunning  little  work-box,  and  that  dainty  bit  of  cambric ! 
but  if  you  could  only  see  the  fair  owner,  and  those 
bright  eyes  glisten,  and  those  rosy  cheeks  blush  welcome, 
at  the  entrance  of  one  who  is  no  better  than  you  by  na 
ture,  you  would  set  about  furnishing  some  snug  little 
domicil  with  just  such  a  pair  of  hands,  being  sure  they 
were  owned  by  one  who  had  a  true,  warm  heart,  and 
then  there  would  be  no  difference. 

Just  try  it,  and  you  will  no  longer  dread  to  go  into 
that  cheerless  room,  going  about  moping,  or  seeking 
comfort  where  you  should  not, — or  in  despair  because 
a  button  has  come  off  just  as  you  were  fastening  your 
collar,  or  a  seam  has  ripped  in  the  most  conspicuous 
place,  just  as  you  were  setting  off  to  the  exchange. — 
Just  try  it,  and  the  next  time  I  take  up  my  pen  I  will 
tell  the  world  of  a  room  where  love  is  the  motive 
power,  and  order  reigns,  for  the  Bachelor's  dormitory 
lias  been  transformed  into  the  happy  husband's  home. 


OR, 

'I  HAVE  BEAUTY  ENOUGH  TO  CARRY  ME  THROUGH 
THE  WORLD." 


•  *  T  HAVE  beauty  enough  to  carry  me  through  the 
JL  world."  So  said  Kitty  Grey.  I  heard  her  for  I 
sat  on  the  same  seat  with  her  in  the  old  schoolhouse  on 
the  green.  She  dashed  the  book  which  she  was  study 
ing  to  the  floor.  "  I  will  not  study,"  she  continued,  "  I 
hate  to  study— it  is  well  enough  for  Mary— she  is  homely, 
but  she  has  more  mind,  and  she  must  know  something, 

in  order  to  please.     There  is  no  such  necessity  for  me." 

(287) 


288  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

"  Oh  Kitty,"  I  replied,  "  what  foolish  notions,  and  do 
you  really  mean  to  live  in  ignorance  because  you  can  get 
through  the  world  without  knowledge  ?  What  do  you 
expect  beauty  will  gain  for  you,  that  you  are  so  certain 
of  its  power?" 

"  Gain,  why  a  rich  husband  to  be  sure,  what  else 
should  a  woman  expect  that  would  be  sufficient  for 
her?" 

"  Kitty  Grey,  so  young  and  yet  so  old  !  you  are  de 
liberately  thinking  that  your  beauty  will  purchase  you 
a  rich  husband,  and  it  is  a  pleasant  thought  to  you  that 
some  rich  man  will  many  you  for  your  beauty  and  no 
thing  else.  What  sort  of  life  would  that  be?"  and  I 
looked  into  Kitty's  glowing  face  to  see  if  there  did  not 
come  a  deeper  blush  at  the  thought  of  such  a  bargain. 

But  it  only  beamed  with  a  thoughtless  kind  of  exul 
tation  at  her  power.  She  was  very  young,  but  she 
had  learned  something  of  the  «  way  of  the  world,"  and 
in  this  matter  certainly  had  judged  rightly.  She  had 
beauty,  and  she  knew  its  value,  its  market  price  ! 

So  Kitty  went  to  school  through  all  the  years  of  girl 
hood,  and  learned  nothing.  She  was  gay  and  thought 
less,  and  flitted  about  like  a  butterfly.  She  never  gave 
any  evidence  of  possessing  a  heart,  and  trifled  without 
scruple  with  the  hearts  of  others.  Many  were  the  lips 
that  cursed  her  for  her  coquetry,  while  she  only  laughed 
and  flirted  the  more.  She  liked  to  hear  men  profess  to 


KITTY    GREY.  289 

adore  her,  and  when  she  had  deceived  them  long  i3aough, 
she  liked  better  to  witness  their  consternation  wli3n  she 
told  them  she  despised  them. 

Wooers  were  abundant,  for  Kitty  was  right  indeed 
when  she  said  that  men  would  care  for  little  else  when 
they  looked  into  her  face,  and  though  each  one  knew 
the  fate  of  those  who  had  gone  before,  with  a  presump 
tion  which  wras  truly  astonishing,  each  was  sure  that  he 
was  treated  with  sincerity ;  but  while  he  was  glorying 
in  his  prize,  and  perhaps  boasting  of  his  success,  the 
thoughtless  girl  was  ridiculing  his  temerity  and  plotting 
his  destruction.  How  gaily  and  wildly  she  laughed 
over  her  conquests.  "  What  fools  they  were,"  she  said, 
"  to  imagine  she  wanted  anything  more  of  them  than  to 
amuse  herself." 

"  But  Kitty,  you  will  begin  to  fade  soon ;  your's  is  a 
beauty  which  will  not  last  longer  than  the  years  of 
youth.  You  must  not  trifle  till  it  is  too  late." 

What  a  toss  of  the  head  wras  that  with  which  she 
looked  in  the  mirror,  and  twined  her  fingers  in  hor  au 
burn  curls.  "  None  of  them  are  rich  enough  yet,"  said 
she;  "if  I  marry  for  money  there  must  be  more  gold 
than  any  of  these  have  in  their  coffers." 

u  You  will  have  to  marry  an  old  man,  some  rich  old 
clod  plodder — Oh  Kitty,  what  a  life  you  will  lead." 

"  I  do  not  care  if  he  is  as  old  as  Methuselah,  ][  will 
be  rich — what  a  dash  I  will  make  in  the  we  rid  I" 
13 


290  THE    MYRTLE  WREATH. 

And  Kitty's  hopes  were  not  disappointed.  A  wooer 
who  was  rich  enough  came  at  last,  and  though  he  was 
not  as  old  as  Methuselah,  his  age  was  nearly  three 
times  hers,  and  a  "stupid "old"  fool  "  she  said  he  was, 
"  that  she  could  manage  just  as  she  pleased." 

In  this  too  she  was  not  disappointed,  she  managed  him 
to  perfection,  and  yet',  if  she  had  had  a  heart  or  the 
least  sensibility,  it  would  have  been  like  spending  life  in 
the  stocks. 

"  A  stupid  old  thing  "  he  is,  to  be  sure,  especially  af 
ter  dinner,  when  two  empty  bottles  are  standing  by  his 
side,  yet  -he  knows  enough  to  watch  his  guy  young 
wife,  and  Oh,  the  oaths  he  pours  into  her  ear  if  he  sus 
pects  her  of  trifling.  But  they  do  not  trouble  her, 
she  laughs  and  trifles  on,  only  endeavoring  to  be  a  lit 
tle  more  careful  when  he  is — drunk  !  How  graceful  she 
is ;  how  like  a  queen  she  moves  about,  blooming  as  a 
bride,  with  never  a  sigh  that  tells  of  a  wearied  or  ach 
ing  heart.  She  is  not  a  true  woman.  All  these  false 
and  hollow  pleasures  are  enough  for  her. 

She  is  in  the  midst  of  a  festive  circle  where  the  wine 
has  passed  freely  round,  and  her  husband  has  sipped 
until  he  is  maddened  rather  than  stupified.  Kitty  has 
forgotten  to  be  sedate.  What  a  sight  for  a  mixed  as 
sembly  !  A  bottle  is  sent  whizzing  at  her  head,  and 
epithets  are  heaped  upon  her  that  the  veriest  outcast  in 
the  street  would  blush  to  hear.  And  yet  she  heeds 


KITTY     GREY.  291 

them  not.  lie  never  refuses  her  money,  and  this  was 
what  she  married  him  for.  What  a  clash  she  does  make 
indeed.  What  a  giddy  whirl  she  keeps. 

"  Oh  dear,  if  he  would  only  die  !"  Yes,  Kitty  Grey 
had  come  to  this,  that  she  dared  speak  such  a  thought. 

"  Oh  Kitty,  what  are  you  saying,  and  what  if  tins 
should  come  to  the  ears  of  the  gossipping  world  ?  You 
do  not  mean  what  you  say." 

"  Yes  indeed,"  exclaimed  Kiity,  "  I  do  mean  it,  and 
why  not — he  is  so  old  and  gouty,  and  is  so  much  trou 
ble,  and  watches  me  more  than  ever.  I  wish  he  was 
dead." 

I  looked  in  amazement,  but  there  was  not  a  shadow 
of  remorse  upon  her  countenance.  To  her  it  was  <;  all 
of  life  to  live,  and  all  of  death  to  die,"  and  anything 
that  deprived  her  of  life's  gay  pleasures  she  looked  upon 
as  she  would  a  stone  in  her  pathway.  She  knew  that 
she  married  a  "  stupid  old  thing,"  but  she  did  not  look 
forward  so  far  as  to  the  time  when  he  would  be  nearly 
eighty  and  she  still  young  and  handsome.  Now  that  he 
could  not  be  present  at  dinner  parties,  and  could  not 
join  the  circle  around  the  card-table,  he  wished  her  to 
remain  with  him,  and  stupid  indeed  she  was  beginning 
to  learn  he  was.  He  could  talk  about  nothing,  and  if 
she  took  a  book  to  read  to  him  he  swore — if  she  walked 
he  swore,  and  if  she  sat  still  he  swore.  He  knew  she 


292  THE    MYRTLE    WREATH. 

hated  him,  and  Kitty  did  not  play  the  hypocrite  and  pre 
tend  to  love  him. 

But  death  did  come  at  length,  and  before  Kitty  had 
lost  her  charms.  He  died,  that  wretched  old  man — died 
with  an  oath  on  his  lips,  died  cursing  his  gay  young 
wife.  Kitty  went  to  the  mirror  and  said,  "  How  will 
weeds  become  me  ?" 

She  made  the  necessary  arrangements  ana  assumed  a 
becoming  gravity,  wore  her  veil  the  prescribed  length 
and  the  hern  the  prescribed  depth,  although  she  did  not 
weep  nor  pretend  to  mourn,  and  when  the  prescribed 
days  were  ended,  during  which  she  must  appear  to  be 
sorrowful,  she  was  a  gay  young  widow,  with  the  money 
all  at  her  command  ! 

"  Oh  Kitty,  what  will  become  of  you  when  the  sea 
son  of  gaiety  is  passed  ?  Do  you  ever  think  of  the 
world  beyond  the  grave  ?" 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Kitty,  "  there  is  time  enough  to 
think  of  it  when  I  am  old  and  can  no  longer  enjoy  the 
world."  Yet  I  saw  a  look  of  terror  cross  her  face,  and 
I  knew  she  was  not  BO  thoughtless  as  she  seemed.  I 
knew  too  that  she  had  wasted  much  of  the  energy  of 
life  ere  life  was  half  spent,  and  that  the  fear  of  death 
did  sometimes  blanch  her  cheek.  Still  she  tried  to 
drown  all  such  troublesome  thoughts  in  some  new  sea 
of  pleasure,  and  was  everywhere  welcomed  as  the  gay, 
the  brilliant,  the  fascinating  Mrs.  A . 


KITTY    GREY.  293 

I  could  not  follow  her  in  the  dizzy  maze — I  often 
heard  of  her,  but  seldom  met  her.  I  loved  her  when 
she  was  little  Kitty  Grey,  and  sat  beside  me  in  the  dis 
trict  school,  because  she  was  playful  and  often  affec 
tionate,  and  very  witty,  but  I  could  not  love  her  as  I  saw 
her  in  the  heartless  unprincipled  woman. 


<c  I  am  dying  !"  These  were  the  words  I  received  in 
a  little  note,  written  with  Kitty's  own  hand.  I  knew 
what  they  meant,  and  quickly  did  I  obey  the  summons, 
and  hasten  to  the  bedside  of  her  who  was  now  to  drink 
the  dregs  of  the  cup  of  pleasure — so  sweet  at  the  top, 
so  bitter  at  the  bottom. 

Yes,  Kitty  was  dying — how  she  sobbed  as  she  threw 
her  arms  around  my  neck,  and  clung  to  me,  crying 
"Must  I  die,  Oh  must  I  die?"  She  was  scarcely  the 
shadow  of  her  former  self,  there  was  not  a  trace  of 
beauty  left  upon  her  form  or  cheek.  The  lily  and 
rose  had  been  exchanged  for  consumption's  sallow  hue, 
and  the  skin  seemed  drawn  tightly  over  every  bone,  and 
had  a  glossy  look,  which  told  the  sad  story  of  decay. 

I  laid  her  back  upon  the  pillow  and  soothed  her  with 
kindly  words.  "  Am  I  so  changed,"  she  said,  "  Oh  is  it 


294  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

consumption,  and  must  I  die  ?"  and  again  she  sobbed 
bitterly. 

I  did  not  attempt  to  deceive  her.  <(  Yes  Kitty,"  I  said, 
"  you  must  die.  It  is  consumption,  and  quickly  it  is 
hurrying  you  to  the  grave.  Oh  Kitty,  how  does  your 
gay  life  seem  to  you  now  ?" 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  cried, 
"  Why  did  they  teach  me  to  live  so,  Oh  why  did  my 
mother  let  me  grow  up  such  a  vain  thoughtless  thing? 
I  might  have  been  different,  Oh  I  might  have  been 
something  better !" 

This  question  had  often  been  asked  by  others,  but  the 
mother  was  just  such  a  vain  thoughtless  thing  herself, 
and  wished  her  daughter  to  be  happy>  and  thought  in 
order  to  be  happy  she  must  be  gay  and  thoughtless,  and 
dance  life  away. 

Only  one  week  before  I  was  summoned  to  her  death 
bed,  Kitty  had  given  a  ball,  when  those  around  her  al 
most  feared  that  every  step  would  precipitate  her  into 
the  grave. 

That  night  she  was  carried  to  her  bed,  and  never 
again  left  it.  "  Oh  the  grave  yard,"  she  would  exclaim, 
"  how  can  I  lie  buried  in  the  ground." 

Every  effort  was  made  to  lead  her  thoughts  from 
earth  and  the  grave  to  heaven,  and 

"Him  whcf  can  make  a  dying  bed 
Feel  soft  as  downy  pillows  are  j" 


KITTY    (JttEY.  295 


but  still  death  was  a  fearful  messenger,  and  she  clung 
to  life  like  one  who  feels  that  it  is  the  ship,  and  that  all 
is  darkness  and  uncertainty  beneath.  Her  mind  had 
been  so  dissipated  that  it  did  not  seem  capable  of  com 
prehending  truth.  Every  day  she  caught  at  some  new 
hope  that  she  might  yet  recover  and  enjoy  life  again. 

"  Consumption  is  a  syren  "  —  how  it  deceived  her,  and 
in  some  measure  deceived  those  around  her.  They  did 
not  think  she  was  so  soon  to  die. 

It  was  a  morning,  a  cold  November  morning  ;  I  was 
scarcely  awake,  when  a  voice  hurriedly  whispered  in  my 
ear,  "  Come,  come  quick,  Kitty  is  indeed  dying."  In 
another  moment  I  was  at  her  bedside.  But  she  was  al 
most  speechless.  She  knew  she  was  dying,  and  realized 
now  "  what  it  was  to  die  "  —  it  was  not  the  grave  of 
which  she  thought,  nor  of  the  agony  of  the  death-throe, 
it  was  ETERNITY.  This  was  the  word  her  lips  murmured 
—  "ETERNITY;"  it  was  the  last  she  spoke  on  earth 
Her  eyes  were  closed  to  open  in  another  world.  Thi 
ther  I  cannot  follow  her.  "What  preparation  God 
wrought  in  her  inmost  soul  ere  he  took  her  hence  I 
cannot  tell  ;  to  rne  there  seemed  no  change  that  fitted 
her  for  the  companionship  of  the  high  and  holy. 

This  was  the  life  and  this  the  death  of  Kitty  Grey, 
who  had  "  beauty  enough  to  carry  her  through  tho 
world."  She  learned  when  it  was  to  late  that  "  is  is  not 
all  of  life  to  live  and  all  of  death  to  die."  To  get 


296  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

through  the  world  is  not  sufficient.  There  is  an  eter 
nity  beyond. 

ETERNITY  !  It  is  a  word  of  solemn  import  at  any  time, 
but  never  did  it  ring  so  fearfully  in  my  ear,  as  when  ut 
tered  by  the  dying  lips  of  Kitty  Grey  ;  those  lips  which 
had  been  speaking  foolishness  all  the  days  of  her  life 
and  now  for  the  first  time  were  breathing  solemn  words, 
with  that  earnest  dying  look.  Oh,  could  they  be  the 
same  from  which  burst  forth  the  heartless  sentiment  at 
the  commencement  of  my  story  ? 

Eternity  had  then  never  entered  her  thoughts,  tho 
word  had  never  rested  upon  her  lips.  Little  thought 
she  then  that  it  would  be  the  one  which  would  seal  them 
forever. 


S|e  pile 


•  *  T)UY  my  matches,  lady;  willyou  buy  my  matches?" 
JJ  Once  or  twice  I  had  passed  through  the  street 
and  heard  the  cry  without  stopping  to  notice  it,  but  a 
few  nights  ago  it  was  almost  dark,  and  the  wind  blew 
very  cold,  as  I  was  hurrying  on,  when  again  it  rang  in  my 
ear,  a  Oh,  buy  my  matches,  lady,"  and  I  felt  a  gentle 
pull  at  my  dress,  which  induced  me  to  stop  and  speak 
to  the  earnest  pleader. 

She  was  a  little  girl  with  that  bonny  blithe  expres 
sion,  which  indicated  the  land  of  her  birth  beyond  the 
13*  (^97) 


298  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH, 

sea,  and  her  flaxen  hair  fell  in  tangled  masses  upon  her 
brow  and  neck;  her  feet  and  legs  were  bare,  and  her 
frock  was  tattered  and  thin  and  soiled. 

"  Oh,  I  do  not  need  any  matches,  dear,"  I  said  as  I 
put  my  hand  kindly  upon  her  head  and  smoothed  the 
hair  upon  her  temples.  "  I  do  not  keep  house,  and  I 
have  no  particular  use  for  matches."  "  Oh,  but  you  can 
buy  a  few,"  she  said,  as  she  looked  up  beseechingly, 
first  at  my  face,  and  then  at  my  dress,  as  if  she  were 
thinking,  "  You  are  able  to  have  such  nice  things,  you 
might  buy  a  few,"  and  I  began  to  think  so  too. 

"  But  what  will  you  do  with  the  money  if  I  buy  your 
matches  ?"  "  Oh,  I'll  give  it  to  my  mother."  "And  what 
will  your  mother  do  with  it  ?"  "  Buy  coffee  and 
bread."  And  does  your  mother  never  buy  any 'of 
that  naughty  stuff  that  makes  her  cross  sometimes,  with 
the  money*  you  get  ?"  Here  the  little  girl's  cheeks  grew 
red,  and  she  held  down  her  head  without  answering  at 
all.  Ah,  thought  I,  the  money  will  not  buy  bread  if  I 
give  it,  but  the  little  girl  hesitates  to  tell  a  lie ;  so,  to  en 
courage  her  in  speaking  the  truth,  I  will  put  pennies  in 
her  hand,  and  pray  that  God  will  give  her  bread. 

Her  blue  eye  sparkled  brightly  as  she  took  them,  then 
away  she  ran  crying  "  Matches,  matches"  till  she  was 
out  of  sight  and  so  far  off  I  could  not  hear  her  voice. 

But  the  matches  served  to  remind  me  of  her,  and  I 
hoped  ngain  to  meet  her  in  my  walks;  wrhere  children 


THE  LITTLE  MATCH  GIRL.  299 

seem  to  be  as  sand  upon  the  sea  shore  for  multitude  ; 
and  to-night,  though  it  was  fairly  dark  when  I  was  pass 
ing  along  way  from  where  I  met  her  before,  she  carne 
running,  as  fast  her  little  feet  would  carry  her,  crying, 
"  Oh,  now,  dear  lady,  will  you  buy  more  matches  ?" 
"  Dear  child,  I  have  not  used  up  half  I  bought  of  you 
the  other  day,  so  I  do  not  need  any  more ;"  but  this 
time  she  did  not  urge  her  plea,  though  she  seemed  more 
sad  than  when  I  met  her  before. 

"  Come,"  said  I,  "  will  you  show  me  where  your 
house  is ;  it  is  too  late  for  you  to  be  in  the  crowded 
street."  How  my  heart  sunk  within  me  as  I' took  her 
hand  to  be  guided  down  a  dismal  alley,  where  I  could 
see  nothing  but  filth  and  dirt  and  squalid  poverty,  and 
thought,  "  Oh,  dear,  thaMittle  girls  must  grow  up  in  such 
a  place  as  this."  Coarse,  brutal  men  were  lounging 
around,  and  now  and  then  the  drunken  brawl  fell  on  my 
ear,  and  oaths  and  blasphemies  made  me  shudder  as  I 
passed. 

To  the  little  creature  at  my  side,  these  were  familiar 
sounds ;  and  when  she  is  a  little  older,  what  is  to  pre 
serve  her  from  the  "path  of  sin"  and  the  "way  of 
death  ?" 

Her  home  was  not,  indeed,  the  worst  among  the 
miserable  huts  that  surround  it,  and  yet  it  was  miser 
able  in  the  extreme.  Her  mother  was  not  in,  but  there 
was  another  little  girl  in  the  corner  on  a  pallet  of  straw, 


300  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

fast  asleep.  "  And  is  this  your  sister  ?"  said  I.  "  Yes, 
she  sells  flowers,  and  I  sell  matches."  "  And  where 
does  she  get  her  flowers?"  "Oh  !  of  the  man  who  has 
a  housefull  up  here,  and  he  gives  her  two  cents  for  every 
boquet  she  sells."  "  And  how  many  does  she  sell  in  a 
day  ?"  "  Sometimes  only  two  or  three,  and  sometimes 
none." 

"  Is  this  all  the  way  you  have  to  buy  your  bread  and 
coffee  ?"      "No;    mother   washes    when   she   is   well, 

but," Here  she  hesitated,  and  the  sad  look  came 

over  her  face,  I  had  noticed  when  I  first  asked  about 
her  mother.  I  could  easily  imagine  why  her  mother 
was  not  well,  but  I  did  not  wish  to  draw  it  from  her, 
for  oh  !  it  is  the  most  humiliating  of  all  trials  when  a 
child  must  blush  for  a  parent's  sins. 

There  was  not  what  1  should  call  a  single  comfort  in 
the  room.  The  air  was  fetid,  and  everything  was  cov 
ered  with  dirt  and  slime  ;  and  yet  here  were  two  little 
girls  alone,  with  only  a  drunken  mother  to  care  for  and 
protect  them.  They  wrere  pretty,  too,  for  which  I  could 
only  pity  them  more.  I  could  not  stay  longer  now, 
but  telling  my  little  friend  I  would  come  again,  I  kissed 
her  brow,  and  dropped  a  tear  upon  her  cheek,  and 
left  them,  praying  that  God  who  feeds  the  ravens  and 
clothes  the  lilies  of  the  field,  would  guard  and  guide 
them. 

I  had  oaly  to  cross  from  avenue  to  avenue  to  enter 


THE  LITTLE  MATCH  GIRL.  301 

one  of  those  princely  mansions,  the  gorgeous  folds  of 
whose  curtains  sweep  the  floor — where  silver  and  gold 
and  satin  and  damask  dazzle  the  eye,  and  surfeit  the 
senses  with  their  very  richness.  As  I  ascended  the 
staircase,  and  passed  the  door  of  a  little  room  that 
looked  as  if  the  fairies  might  inhabit  it,  I  saw  a  little 
girl  asleep,  with  a  bunch  of  flowers  in  her  hand.  She 
was  one  of  those  fair  elfin  creatures,  with  rosy  cheek 
and  golden  curls  which  were  lying  in  silken  tracery  all 
around  her  brow  and  neck ;  the  pillow  and  also  the 
sheet  that  covered  her  were  edged  with  lace;  one  arm 
was  thrown  gracefully  back  above  her  head,  and 
the  oftier  was  clasping  the  boquet,  which  her  mother 
said  she  had  insisted  on  purchasing  of  a  little  girl  wlforn 
she  met  in  the  street,  and  would  not  part  with  when 
she  went  to  sleep. 

I  could  not  know  certainly,  but  I  was  willing  to  be 
lieve  that  the  poor  little  sleeper  I  had  left  on  the  pallet 
of  straw  was  the  very  one  of  whom  the  flowers  were 
purchased ;  and  could  her  weary  aching  eyes  look  in 
here  her  heart  would  be  ready  to  burst  at  the  contrast. 
All  day  long  she  must  roam  from  street  to  street, 
crying,  "  Buy  my  flowers,"  tobe  repulsed  with  coldness, 
and  sometimes  stung  by  insult,  and  return  at  night 
to  a  drunken  mother  and  comfortless  room  and  supper, 
less  bed;  her  little  body  shivering  with  cold,  and  her 
little  heart  chilled  by  neglect — with  never  a  word  of 


302  THE    MYRTLE  WREATH. 

love  to  cheer,  or  kindness  to  encourage,  this  is  all  she 
knows  of  life — for  her  there  is  no  gladness  here,  and  no 
knowledge  or  hope  of  a  bright  hereafter. 

But  this  little  sleeper  before  me  breathes  the  atmos 
phere  of  indulgent  kindness,  and  is  pillowed  on  the 
bosom  of  love.  All  around  her  are  light  and  joy  and 
gladsomeness  ;  and  everything  is  lavished  upon  her  that 
can  tend  to  the  expanding  of  her  intellect  or  the  culture 
of  her  heart.  I  lingered  long  to  gaze  upon  her  innocent 
beauty,  and  dwell  upon  the  contrast  in  the  homes  of 
the  little  girls,  so  near  together  and  so  widely  differ 
ent  ;  and  ere  I  turned  away  I  pressed  a  kiss  upon  her 
brow,  and  dropped  a  tear  upon  her  cheek,  for  my  heart 
was  bursting  with  thoughts  my  pen  would  not  dare  to 
utter. 

Oh,  bright  and  glorious  day,  when  mystery  shall  be 
dissolved,  and  all  things  shall  be  made  clear  to  our 
clouded  vision !  Meanwhile,  may  God  increase  tho 
measure  of  our  hope  and  trust  and  love ;  and  fill  our 
hearts  with  kindly  charities,  and  strengthen  our  hands 
to  dispense  "  good  gifts"  among  the  "  little  ones," — 
such  as  when  on  earth  He  took  in  His  arms,  and  cher 
ished  in  His  bosom. 


«Ij!  PgM  011  %  tfpr 


AT  Burlington,  Iowa,  we  went  on  board  the  boat, 
and  found  it  crowded,  and  old,  and  rickety,  and  fil 
thy  beyond  anything  we  had  before  seen.  There  was 
not  an  empty  berth  in  the  ladies'  cabin,  so  we  were  hon 
ored  by  being  permitted  to  occupy  the  state-room  of 
the  captain,  which  was  as  many  as  four  inches  longer 
and  broader  than  those  of  ths  passengers,  and  really 
gave  us  so  much  space  to  breathe  and  move  that  we 
hardly  knew  what  to  do  with  ourselves.  "We  could  ac 
tually  turn  round,  and  hang  up  our  dresses,  and  look 

(303) 


304  THE    MYRTLE    WREATH. 

out  of  the  window.  But  alas,  for  any  visions  of  dreamy 
slumbers  in  the  night  time.  Never  before  was  I  so  as 
sailed  by  enemies — "  black  spirits  and  white,  blue  spirits 
and  grey." 

The  thermometer  indicated  a  temperature  which  one 
might  denominate  hot  without  being  vulgar,  and  the 
pressure  of  the  atmosphere  was  therefore  sufficient  to 
banish  sleep,  yet  we  might  have  caught  a  nap  or  two, 
had  not  the  fleas  and  other  animals  been  still  less  merci 
ful.  I  was  covered  "  from  the  crown  of  my  head  to  the 
sole  of  my  foot  "  with  winged  insects  and  "  fourfooted 
things,"  and  their  bite  was  like  that  of  scorpions.  A 
young  lady  in  the  next  room  arose  and  devoted  herself 
to  the  work  of  slaughter  for  the  space  of  three  hours, 
insis  ting  that  she  had  paid  her  passage — making  her 
shoe  a  guillotine  more  bloody  than  any  recorded  in 
history. 

Hoping  for  some  door  of  escape,  I  peeped  through 
the  lattice  of  my  dormitory,  which  opened  into  the  gen 
tlemen's  cabin,  and  there  I  saw  the  floor  strewn  so 
thickly  with  cots,  in  which  were  stowed  living  beings  of 
every  nation  and  hue,  that  to  walk  forth  was  impossible, 
arid  to  breathe  the  heated  and  poisoned  air  quite  as  un 
desirable.  What  should  I  do  ?  There  was  no  alterna 
tive  but  to  lie  down  and  resign  myself  to — bugs  !  For 
a  long  time  it  seemed  doubtful  whether  there  would  be 
anything  left  of  me  to  tell  the  story.  To  wage  war,  to 


A  JULY  NIGHT  ON  THE  UPPER  MISSISSIPPI.     305 

fight,  to  flee,  would  have  seemed  glorious,  but  to  lie  pas 
sive  in  the  arms  of  such  foes,  without  the  prospect  of  a 
victorious  crown,  the  "meed  of  praise,"  nor  even  the 
pleasure  of  struggling,  was  inglorious  and  humiliating 
indeed. 

But  "  all  things  must  have  an  end,"  and  so  did  that 
night ;  and  the  morning  dawned  so  proud  and  glorious 
that  I  could  almost  thank  my  enemies  for  compelling  me 
to  rise  in  season  to  "  behold  its  appearing."  There  was 
not  a  cloud  in  all  the  sky,  and  a  flood  of  golden  light 
bathed  the  island  and  the  stream,  while  the  air  came 
fresh  and  sweet,  laden  with  life  and  health  and  strength 
to  the  weary.  The  prairie  is  no  longer  a  dull  monoto 
nous  waste ;  the  tall  grass  is  waving  to  the  breeze ;  you 
jook  abroad  upon  a  wilderness  of  flowers,  the"  tasselled 
corn  is  bending  o'er  the  teeming  plain,"  and  the  cottage 
and  cabin  are  surrounded  by  the  tokens  of  cultivation* 
Eock  Island  sits  like  a  beautiful  gem  on  the  waters,  and 
busy  towns  are  scattered  all  along  the  shores. 

A  romantic  story  is  related  to  every  traveller  in  this 
region  of  a  distinguished  and  handsome  English  officer, 
who  wandered  into  these  western  wilds,  when  the  In 
dian  was  still  in  possession,  and  fell  in  love  with  a  beau, 
tiful  Indian  girl,  whom  he  wooed  and  won  and  took  to 
be  his  wife.  He  built  a  cabin  on  the  river's  bank,  ac 
commodated  himself  to  Indian  life  and  manners,  and 
from  youth  to  old  age  has  remained  seemingly  content 


306  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

and  happy,  mingling  but  little  in  society,  and  not  at  all 
with  people  possessing  tastes  similar  to  his  own. 

His  palate  has  been  resigned  to  Indian  cookery,  and 
his  habits  to  Indian  housewifery ;  and  for  one  thing  he 
certainly  deserves  commendation,  that  his  heart  has  never 
wavered  in  its  fidelity  to  the  bride  of  his  youth- 
She  has  ever  retained  her  Indian  dress,  and  I  believe 
has  never  learned  to  read,  yet  has  ever  remained  sole 
mistress  of  the  affections  of  a  highly  cultivated  and  ac 
complished  man,  accustomed  to  the  refinement  and  lux 
ury  of  English  society.  Their  daughters  have  been 
educated  at  a  popular  boarding  school,  and  are  bright 
intelligent  girls,  but  not  so  content  as  their  father  with 
their  home  and  mother — often  manifesting  mortification 
at  their  mother's  manners  and  dress  when  she  visited 
them,  and  expressing  the  wish  that  they  were  either 
English  or  Indian,  and  their  position  defined  as  either 
savage  or  civilized. 

It  was  indeed  one  of  love's  strangest  freaks,  and,  as  in 
many  other  cuses,  "  there  is  no  accounting  for  it." 


I  HOPE  it  will  be  understood  with  what  timidity  I 
"  take  my  pen  to  give  those  a  hint  who  are  so  much 
unused  to  be  instructed  by  "us  icomen."  But  it  is 
sometimes  given  to  "  the  weak  things  of  this  world  to 
confound  the  mighty,  and  though  I  do  not  wish  to 
confound  them,  I  would  like  to  enlighten  them  on  one 
or  two  points. 

It  is  very  often  my  lot  to  hear  ladies  when  they  have 
taken  up  a  "  Paper,"  exclaim   as  they   throw  it  down, 

"  Dear  me,  nothing  in  it  but  law  andpoliitcs,  and  stupid 

(307) 


308  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

old  documents  and  police  reports.  Of  what  earthly 
use  can  they  be.  I  wish  they  would  have  something 
that  I  can  understand — something  interesting." 

And  here  some  wise  gentleman  looks  over  his  spec 
tacles  and  remarks,  "You  ought  to  be  able  to  un 
derstand  these  —  it  would  be  much  better  for  you 
than  the  silly  love  stories,  or  trifling  articles  which  you 
like."  But  he  does  not  take  it  into  his  wise  head  to 
consider  that  she  was  not  educated  to  understand 
these  things.  It  was  not  considered  necessary  for  her 
in  the  sphere  in  which  she  was  expected  to  move! — 
She  was  told  that  men  did  not  like  women  who  "  med 
dled  with  politics,"  or  soared  to  things  above  their  corn- 
prehension — and  that  they  a  little  preferred  those  who 
were  not  able  to  comprehend.  "  So  she  did  as  she  was 
told,"  like  an  obedient  girl,  for  she  wished  to  please  you 
and  get  a  husband  ! 

Now  he  has  one  whom  she  thought  would  make  an 
excellent  wife  because  she  was  so  quiet  and  so  affection 
ate,  and  looked  up  to  him  so  reverentially  !  But  who 
now  that  the  honeymoon  is  over,  really  wishes  that  she 
could  talk  about  something  sensible,  and  had  a  head 
as  well  as  a  heart. 

Neither  does  he  take  it  into  consideration  that  he  has 
never  taken  pains  to  supply  the  defects  of  her  educa 
tion.  Hours  and  days  and  weeks  he  has  spent  poring 
over  the  long  stupid  documents — devouring  them  all  by 


A  HINT  TO  THE  LORDS  OF  CREATION.     309 

himself  as  if  he  were  in  bachelor's  hall.  All  the  long 
winter  evenings  he  spends  reading  the  "  Papers"  in 
silence,  because,  "  his  wife  would  not  understand  if  he 
should  read  aloud,"  never  offering  by  a  little  explanation 
a  few  passages  of  History  or  Biography  so  famil 
iar  to  him  to  make  even  law  and  politics  interesting  to 
his  companion. 

"  Milk  for  babes,"  was  St.  Paul's  advice,  and  it  is  as 
good  a  rule  for  the  babes  of  literature.  As  it  is  im 
possible  for  her  to  understand  the  long  stupid  documents 
which  fill  the  newspapers,  she  should  be  provided  with 
something  which  she  can  understand.  There  should  at 
least  be  one  corner  for  her.  But  here  the  "  corps  edi 
torial"  w?ill  remonstrate,  "  are  there  not  enough  entirely 
devoted  to  their  understandings.  It  is  impossible  to  fill 
up  any  of  our  important  corners  with  such  trifles  as 
please  ladies." 

Yes,  but  there  are  a  great  many  families  scattered  all 
over  the  country  who  can  afford  to  take  but  one  paper, 
and  this  of  course  must  be  one  which  has  the  most 
"  ship  news,"  and  the  longest  column  devoted  to  the 
"  price  of  stocks,"  and  the  "  New  York  market," — the 
^ospect  of  a  "  war  on  the  continent,"  and  "  the  state  of 
the  whale  fisheries."  This  is  what  gentlemen  wish 
to  know,  and  therefore  they  will  know  it !  "  Ladies 
do  not  read  newspapers  to  teach  them  how  to  darn 
stockings  or  make  delectable  soups." 


310  T1IE    MYRTLE  WREATH. 

No,  but  they  need  something  to  give  variety  to  the 
long  weary  hours,  and  more  than  all,  they  like  to  feul 
that  they  share  your  pleasures — that  they  are  not  help 
mates  merely  for  your  animal  gratification.  Bring  home 
a  paper  every  night  in  one  corner  of  which  you  are 
sure  there  will  be  something  your  wife  can  appreciate, 
whilst  she  is  mending  your  coat  or  rocking  the  baby, 
and  she  will  mend  it  all  the  nicer,  I  assure  you,  and  be 
inexpressibly  happier  whilst  she  is  doing  it. 

And  when  she  has  learned  to  welcome  the  newspa 
per  for  that  lone  corner's  sake,  she  will  begin  to  look  it 
over  for  your  sake,  and  try  to  understand  what  inter 
ests  you.  Then  if  you  will  only  kindly  and  patiently 
teach  her,  you  may  soon  have  an  intelligent  companion 
to  share  your  thoughts,  and  the  little  boy  who  is  to  re 
ceive  his  first  impressions  from  her  lips,  will  be  a  wiser 
and  a  better  man. 

She  must  have  a  motive  for  self-improvement,  and  the 
strongest  one  you  can  present  is  that  she  will  thus  add 
to  your  happiness.  But  do  not  sit  there  moping  till  she 
has  become  wise  enough  to  entertain  you  or  share  your 
reading  and  conversation.  Begin  with  entertaining  her 
and  prove  to  her  that  wisdom's  paths  are  flowery,  and 
allure  her  by  culling  the  fairest  and  sweetest  blosoms 
in  the  parterres  of  knowledge — and  let  her  her  see  that 
among  the  sweetest  fruits  are  patience,  long  suffering, 
sympathy  and  kindness.  Let  me  tell  you  that  life's 


A  HINT  TO  THE  LORDS  OF  CREATION.     31  1 

thorny  pathway  would  be  smoother  thus  travelling  to 
gether  companions  in  all  things,  than  whilst  you  stride 
onward,  never  offering  a  helping  hand  to  her  who  can 
not  keep  pace  alone. 


OR, 

TRUE    BENEVOLENCE. 


AS  I  was  walking  home  last  night  through  one  of 
the  thoroughfares  of  the  great  city,  I  met  many 
little  boys  with  bundles  of  faggots  in  their  arms, 
and  some  tied  with  a  hempen  cord  and  slung  upon  their 
shoulders ;  and  having  an  inveterate  habit  (I  will  not  say 
whether  it  is  good  or  bad,)  of  speaking  to  all  little 
boys  and  girls  that  I  meet  in  the  street,  that  look  as  if 
a  kind  word  would  be  kindly  received,  I  stopped  to  talk 

with  these. 

(312) 


THE  LITTLE  BOY  WITH  FAGGOTS.  313 

To  one,  who  seemed  about  twelve  years  of  age,  I 
said,  "  what  a  nice  parcel  of  wood  you  have,  where  do 
you  pick  it  up  ?" 

"  Oh,  out  here  where  they  are  building,"  said  he,  and 
I  knew  instantly  by  the  tones  of  his  voice  and  the  mild 
pleasant  expression  of  his  eye,  and  his  respectful  man 
ner,  that  he  either  had  a  comfortable  home  and  kind 
parents,  or  had  experienced  some  sorrow  which  had 
softened  him  and  exerted  a  purifying  influence  upon  his 
boyish  spirit. 

His  clothes  were  very  thin  and  tattered,  and  soiled 
too;  his  shoes  were  too  large  and  his  cap  not  large 
enough  ;  it  evidently  fitted  him  when  he  was  many  years 
younger,  but  his  face,  if  it  had  belonged  to  one  who 
was  well  dressed,  would  have  been  called  handsome  ; 
with  him  were  two  others,  smaller  and  laden  with  a  sim 
ilar  burden,  but  easily  distinguished  as  belonging  to  a 
different  nation.  Their  round  chubby  faces  and  dumpy 
figures  told  that  they  were  Dutch,  but  their  countenan 
ces  also  indicated  they  had  the  true  Dutch  good  humor 
and  warm  heart. 

When  I  asked  their  name*,  the  little  boy  said,  point 
ing  to  the  largest  one,  "  he  lives  with  us,  but  he  is  not 
ours;  he  has  no  father  nor  mother,  and  no  home,  and  so 
h  e  sleeps  with  us. 

I  looked  again  upon  that  youthful  face,  and  the  lip 

was  quivering  and  the  tears  were  gathering  in  his  full 
14 


.314  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

dark  eye,  and  I  knew  his  heart  was  throbbing  quick  and 
loud,  and  his  little  breast  was  heaving  with  emotions 
which  none  but  the  homeless  and  friendless  can  know. 
For  a  moment  I  could  scarce  speak  myself,  and  know 
ing  that  I  must  not  stop  to  learn  his  history  in  that 
noisy  street,  I  asked  the  No.  of  their  residence,  and 
telling  them  I  \vould  call  soon  to  tee  their  mother,  I 
bade  them  good  night 

Very  early  this  morning  I  threaded  my  way  through 
the  narrow  alley  where  I  knew  I  must  expect  to  find 
my  little  friends.  As  the  poor  need  neither  bars  nor 
bolts  to  guard  their  treasures,  when  I  readied  the  door 
I  entered  without  ringing  or  knocking  or  waiting  for  an 
usher. 

I  went  on  up  stairs,  but  I  must  stop  to  say  that  the 
stairs  were  very  clean  and  white,  and  looked  as  if  they 
had  been  lately  scoured,  and  at  the  next  door  I  gently 
tapped,  and  Robert,  my  little  acquaintance  of  the  night 
before,  appeared  before  rne  as  its  opener. 

What  a  sight  for  those  who  dwell  where  luxury  or 
even  plenty  reigns.  In  one  little  room  were  the  father 
and  mother  and  their  six  children,  and  yet  they  had 
room  for  another  who  was  "  neither  kith  nor  kin."  *  * 

The  Saviour  said,  "  He  that  giveth  a  cup  of  cold  water 
to  one  of  these  little  ones  in  my  name,  he  shall  in  no 
wise  lose  his  reward."  They  had  given  more  than  the 
cup  of  cold  water — food,  shelter,  ah  yes,  and  more 


THE  LITTLE  BOY  WITH  FAGGOTS.  315 

than  tliis — they  had  given  him  a  little  corner  in  their 
HUME,  and  though  it  was  what  any  of  my  readers  would 
eall  a  very  dark  and  almost  loathsome  corner,  it  was 
very  bright  to  him,  because  it  was  lightened  all  about 
with  the  halo  of  that  sweet  word  WELCOME. 

Oh  into  how  many  glistening  halls  might  he  have 
gone,  where  the  hangings  were  of  gold  and  silver  and 
tapestry,  and  where  they  had  "  room  enough  and  to 
spare,"  and  heard  the  hollow  ringing  of  that  cold  word 
"  depart."  He  might  have  asked  of  those,  whose  food  is 
the  richest  and  costliest  which  the  market  affords,  and 
whose  drink  is  the  sparkling  juice  of  the  vine,  and  they 
would  have  answered,  "  we  know  you  not." 

I  enquired  how  much  the  father  earned  by  his  daily 
labor,  and  he  said,  now  he  had  a  good  place  where  he 
was  paid  four  dollars  a  week.  "  And  how  much  rent 
for  this  room  and  a  little  bedroom  adjoining  ?"  u  Five 
dollars  a  month."  Thus  there  is  left  not  quite  the 
wages  of  three  weeks  to  feed  and  clothe  nine,  and  yet 
they  take  an  alien  of  whose  birth  and  parentage  they 
know  scarcely  anything,  and  bid  him  sit  at  their  table, 
and  warm  himself  by  their  tire,  and  sleep  under  their 
poor  roof,  as  kindly  and  heartily  as  their  own  ! 

"  How  came  you  to  know  him  at  all  ?"  asked  I. 
<•  Oh,"  said  the  mother,  "  my  little  boy  found  him  in  the 
street  and  he  was  crying  bitterly  because  his  mother 
was  dead,  and  he  had  no  home,  and  he  brought  him  in 


316  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

and  said,  "  0  mother,  let  him  sleep  with  us;  he  will  be 
good  and  help  us  pick  up  sticks;  will  you,  mother?" 
so  she  said,  "  I  could  not  refuse  him — and  he  is  a  good 
boy,  and  does  all  he  can  to  help  us  along." 

I  then  drew  from  him  a  little  of  his  story,  and  found 
his  birth-place  was  a  western  city;  and  when  his  parents 
died,  knowing  that  he  had  a  brother  here,  he  came,  with 
out  doubt  that  he  should  be  kindly  received,  and  found 
his  brother  worse  than  a  stranger.  He  would  not  per 
mit  him  to  share  his  home,  nor  do  aught  toward  pro 
viding  him  with  one  elsewhere.  So  he  went  forth  to 
beg,  and  strange  it  was  that  he  did  not  learn  to  steal. 

Many  a  night  he  slept  in  the  street  in  open  carts, 
or  wherever  he  could  hide  away ;  and  many  days  and 
nights  he  had  not  so  much  as  a  potato  or  a  bit  of  bread 
to  appease  his  hunger.  He  asked  for  work,  but  no  one 
wished  the  sevices  of  so  small  a  boy,  one  whom  they 
did  not  know,  and  therefore  could  not  trust. 

When  weary  with  wandering  he  would  lie  down  in 
despair,  bathing  the  cold  stones  with  his  tears,  and  foil 
asleep  wishing  he  might  never  awake,  and  in  the  morn 
ing,  cold  and  damp,  and  scarcely  at  all  rested  by  his 
slumber,  would  arise  to  drag  his  aching  limbs  through 
another  day,  and  sleep  another  night  on  the  same  cold, 
lonely  pillow,  beneath  the  same  blue  canopy. 

At  length,  among  his  street  acquaintances,  was  a  little 
boy,  who  learned  to  love  arid  pity  him,  and  offered  to 


THE  LITTLE  BOY  WITH  FAGGOTS.  317 

share  with  him  his  little  corner,  the  portion  of  coarse 
food  they  could  obtain,  and  a  mother's  care. 

It  was  a  rude,  unseemly  place,  but  perhaps  as  clean 
and  comfortable  as  the  mother  of  seven  children  could 
make  it  by  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning ;  and  one  very 
pretty  sight  met  my  eye  on  opening  the  door,  a  baby 
in  a  tub  of  water,  splashing,  and  spattering,  and  crow 
ing,  as  happy  as  the  baby  of  any  lady  in  the  land.  And 
when  it  was  taken  out,  it  was  dressed  as  clean  as  a 
baby  need  be,  and  what  mother  was  ever  so  poor,  that 
she  could  not  in  some  way  obtain  a  ruffle  for  the 
baby's  frock  !  Oh  yes,  and  it  had  a  yellow  frock  too, 
and,  with  the  little  white  ruffles  in  the  sleeve,  and  the  dim 
pled  shoulder  peeping  out  above,  it  was  a  baby  to  be 
kissed,  and  seemed  fully  to  understand  its  importance 
as  it  was  handed  from  mamma  to  papa,  and  then  to  the 
"  ladies,"  for  this  purp  se. 

I  offered  the  mother  a  book,  and  what  was  my  sur 
prise  to  learn  that  she  could  not  read  ;  but  she  said  her 
husband  could,  and  the  little  boys — and  one  ran  quickly 
and  brought  a  Bible  which  had  been  given  him  at  the 
Sunday  school. 

This  was  the  second  instance  T  had  found  that  morn 
ing  where  the  mother  could  not  read,  though  the  father 
could. 

So  she  did  not  learn  self  denial  and  disinterested  be 
nevolence  from  the  Word  of  God,  biit  her  countenance 


318  TI1K  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

and  conversation  indicated  a  heart  in  which  the  Spirit 
of  Truth  and  Love  had  taken  up  its  abode;  and  I  could 
but  hope  that  He  who  had  begun  the  good  work 
would  perfect  it,  and  that  she  was  laying  up  her  trea 
sure  in  Heaven. 

There  was  a  little  girl  of  eight  or  nine  years;  "  and 
what  does  she  >")o,"  I  asked,  "  to  add  her  mite  to  the 
common  treasury  ?"  "  Oh  I  do  not  send  her  out," 
spoke  the  mother  very  sorrowfully,  "  I  do  not  send  her 
into  the  street,  I  must  work  very  hard  and  suffer  very 
long  before  I  send  my  little  girl  into  the  street ;  she 
might  be  taken  up,  and  I  never  know  what  became  of 
her." 

The  child  was  bright  and  pretty,  and  I  understood 
the  terrible  fear  of  a  mother's  heart. 

They  all  seemed  to  love  one  another,  but  the  most 
beautiful  sight  of  all  was  the  orphan  boy,  standing  in 
their  midst,  his  bosom  swelling  with  the  gratitude  his 
lips  could  not  speak,  whilst  each  said  some  kind  word 
for  him,  and  with  a  delicacy  which  the  most  cultivated 
could  not  more  than  equal,  tried  to  make  him  feel  that 
he  was  a  blessing  and  not  a  burden  in  their  little  house, 
hold.  "  Of  those  to  whom  much  is  given,  much  will  be 
required."  If  the  rich  and  prosperous  are  to  be  judged 
by  this  law,  how  will  they  answer  in  the  great  day  for 
the  treasures  which  God  has  enabled  them  to  accumu 
late? 


THE  LITTLE  BOY  WITH  FAGGOTS.  319 

How  will  they  look  upon  the  thousands  of  orphan 
children,  whom  they  might  have  rescued  from  poverty, 
degradation  and  crime,  and  saved  their  souls  from  the 
penalty  of  guilt  ? 

Here  is  a  family,  whose  toil  is  the  most  menial  of 
drudgery,  without  education,  refinement,  or  intelligence, 
whose  subtantial  meals  are  not  so  much  as  the  crumbs 
which  fall  from  your  table,  and  yet  they  divided  with 
him  who  had  none — "  they  have  done  what  they  could," 
and  w7ho  is  not  ready  to  blush  with  shame,  when  he  re 
members  his  blessings  and  privileges  and  his  abundant 
means,  and  thinks  of  what  he  has  "left  undone,"  in  this 
great  work ! 

How  much  need  we  have  to  pray  that  God  will  not 
reward  us  according  to  our  deeds.  May  some  heart  be 
moved  by  this  simple  story  in  the  annals  of  the  poor, 
to  feel  for  the  orphan's  woes,  and  listen  to  the  orphan's 
cries — and  wipe  away  at  least,  one  poor  orphan's  tears. 


(Dur  fallen, 

IN  SPRING,  SUMMER,  AUTUMN  AND  WINTER. 


SPRING. 

"  Will  you  walk  into  my  parlor, 

Said  the  spider  to  the  fly, 
'Tis  the  prettiest  little  parlor 
That  ever  you  did  spy." 

BUT  I  do  not  mean  to  ask  you  to  walk  into  my  par- 
lor  this  bright  pleasant  day  in  May.  If  you  will 
sit  down  beside  me  on  the  terrace  step,  I  will  bid  you 
look  abroad  on  the  most  beautiful  combination  of 
mountain,  meadow,  stream  and  hill,  your  eyes  ever  be 
held — a  landscape  whose  name  is  beauty. 

(320) 


OUR    VALLEY.  321 

Here  37ou  shall  be  shaded  by  the  moosemissa,  that 
twines  its  branches  in  delicate  tracery  above  your  head, 
and  over  the  trellis  is  creeping  the  Petunia  with  its  tiny 
leaves  just  uncurling,  and  the  little  tendrils  clasping 
confidingly  the  arms  I  have  given  them  for  support. 
This  is  on  the  brow  of  the  garden  hill ;  at  the  end  of 
the  walk  at  your  left,  a  beehive  is  humming,  humming, 
and  all  around  are  the  trees  in  blossom,  and  the  shrub 
bery  begins  to  "  leave  out." 

In  front,  on  the  border  of  the  terrace,  is  a  row  of 
gooseberry  bushes,  and  if  you  will  come  at  noon  and  be 
very  quiet,  "  as  still  as  a  mouse,"  you  shall  see  among 
the  almost  invisible  flowers  a  dozen  humming  birds. 
Those  little  fairy  creatures,  poising  in  the  air  while 
they  dip  their  bills  in  a  hundred  tubes,  and  fill  the  air 
with  soft  music,  like  that  of  the  ./Eolian  when  the  eve 
ning  zephyr  plays. 

How  many  hours  I  sit  and  watch  them  here, — a  thou 
sand  rainbow  hues  are  glistening  in  the  circle  around 
the  throat,  and  scarlet,  green  and  golden  is  the  crest  A 

leaf  is  sufficient  to  support  them,  and  when  they  light, 
they  seem  scarcely  larger  than  a  bee,  but  how  graceful 
every  motion  as  they  hop  and  turn  about ;  but  in  vain 
1  look  for  those  little  net-work  wings  among  the  span 
gles  where  they  rest.  In  all  animated  nature  there  is 
nothing  else  so  beautiful. 

Below  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  is  the  orchard ;  this  is 


322  THE    MYRTLE    WREATH. 

what  we  call  it,  because  once  it  was  a  place  where  ap 
ples  grew,  but  now  it  is  a  sort  of  "drawing  room  "  for 
Dolly  the  pony,  or  any  little  lamb  who  may  have  lost  its 
mother,  or  a  "handsome  calf"  who  is  to  be  "reared." 
Dolly  walks  lazily  about  as  if  she  were  "  lady  of  the 
manor,"  and  seems  to  understand  that  Charley  and  Katy ' 
are  in  the  harness,  or  away  over  in  the  pasture,  while 
she  is  permitted  to  browse  and  crop  in  a  more  fruitful 
and  luxuriant  field. 

The  meadow  is  a  semi-circle  in  its  form,  around  which 
the  river  winds,  and  I  get  a  peep  at  it  now  and  then 
through  the  thick  green  foliage  which  droops  upon  its 
borders,  while  gradually  rising  from  the  opposite  bank 
are  those  "old  granite  hills,"  which  I  have  loved  ever 
since  I  can  remember.  Did  you  ever  see  Moose  Hillock  ? 
Look  then  how  he  towers  above  all  the  surrounding 
hills.  Bald  he  has  been  from  his  youth  up,  and  whether 
he  is  afraid  of  catching  cold,  or  whether  it  is  a  humor 
of  his,  I  know  not,  but  never  more  than  a  month  in  the 
year,  and  that  in  the  very  hottest  weather,  is  he  to  be 
seen  without  his  cap,  his  night-cap,  we  call  it,  though  he 
wears  it  night  and  day. 

Ah,  yes,  very  well  do  we  know7  when  Old  Boreas  is 
let  loose,  and  the  icebergs  are  coining,  and  snows  are 
gathering  and  winter  is  coining,  for  Moose  Hillock  is 
first  to  cover  his  bald  head  and  don  his  white  robes,  and 
not  till  his  broad  shoulders  are  bare  acr.'iin  do  we  fool 


OUR  VALLEY.  323 

sure  that  tbo  wind  will  not  come  sweeping  down  the 
valley,  and  blight  all  the  leaves  and  tender  blossoms.  It 
is  May  as  I  said,  and  I  can  scarcely  see  the  furrows  xon 
his  face,  deep  and  dark  as  they  are,  and  his  cap  is  drawn 
far  down  over  his  brow  ;  but  stern  and  brown,  and  bur- 
ley  as  he  is,  there  is  not  an  inhabitant  of  the  valley  that 
does  not  love  him  and  feel  for  him  a  peculiar  reverence. 

At  his  feet  sits  Sugarloaf,  in  her  blue  morning  dress 
and  grey  slippers;  but  she  sits  np  so  prim  and  straight, 
and  looks  so  unsociable,  that  wye  hardly  think  her  a  fit 
companion  for  her  lord,  the  brave  old  country  gen 
tleman. 

Far  away  at  his  right  stretch  the  black  hills, — at 
full  view  from  where  we  sit  are  the  Franconia  moun 
tains,  and  farther  on  we  have  just  a  glimpse  of  the  white 
hills,  so  grand  and  always  hoary.  Oh,  the  mountains, 
the  mountains  for  me,  let  me  live  and  die  among  the 
mountains  1 

Antiquarians  and  geologists,  those  learned  people, 
say  our  valley  was  once  a  lake — a  range  of  the  Green 
mountains  on  the  west  forming  a  perfect  amphitheatre 
with  the  granite  hills  on  the  east,  completely  enclosing 
us,  the  river  being  now  the  only  remnant  of  what  was 
once  a  large  sheet  of  water. 

Elms,  oaks,  and  butternuts,  dot  the  meadows  and 
shade  the  stream.  Bold  crags  and  cliffs  are  jutting  out 
here  and  there  by  the  road  side,  and  wild  cataracts  are 


324  THE   MYKTLE  WREATH. 

dashing  down  the  precipices.  Foutains  are  gleaming 
in  the  forest,  and  brooks  are  meandering  through  the 
dells. 

It  is  noon  now,  but  if  you  will  come  again  at  sunset 
you  shall  see  a  sight  as  glorious  as  Italy  can  boast,  when 
the  mountains  and  the  hills  are  clothed  in  crimson  and 
the  valleys  seem  a  flood  of  gold. 

Now  they  fade,  and  the  shadows  come  creeping  on. 
The  clouds  rest  on  the  hill  tops  and  the  dew  is  on  the 
grass.  Listen,  and  you  shall  hear  the  crickets  from 
under  every  leaf,  how  cheerily  they  sing,  and  the  frogs 
are  making  bass,  treble  and  tenor,  quartettes.  If  you 
will  stay  a  little  longer  you  shall  hear  the  whipporwill ; 
every  night  she  is  there,  but  where  I  have  never  yet 
been  able  to  learn.  I  have  been  sure  she  was  in  that 
tree,  and  when  I  came  softly  up,  her  song  was  far  away 
•under  the  hill,  and  if  I  followed  her  there,  her  sorrow 
ful  strain  would  be  echoing  by  the  river  bank.  So  I 
have  given  it  up,  and  let  her  take  shelter  under  her 
nomme  de  plume,  or  nomme  de  tune ;  as  long  as  she 
will  sing  "whipporwill"  through  all  the  summer  eve 
nings,  concealed  in  her  leafy  bower,  I  will  not  ask  her 
to  appear  on  the  stage. 

The  cows  have  been  milked  and  the  hens  have  gone 
to  roost,  the  villagers  are  strolling  through  the  street, 
and  the  "  boys  are  whistling  as  they  go."  The  work  is 


OUR  VALLEY.  325 

done  up,  and  the  matrons  and  maidens  are  knitting  on 
the  doorsteps  or  chatting  by  the  gate. 

It  is  nine  o'clock,  the  granaries  are  locked,  the  doors 
are  closed,  the  lamps  go  out,  and  you  and  I  must  go  in ; 
but  if  you  will  come  another  time  I  will  tell  you  more 
about  "  Our  Valley,"  for  I  have  not  revealed  to  you 
half  its  charms. 


SUMMER. 

Now,  dear  Header,  are  you  ready  ?  If  you  are  we 
will  take  a  ride.  A  string  of  pearls  is  on  every  blade  of 
grass,  and  diamonds  are  on  every  calyx,  and  leaf  and 
flower.  Every  tree  is  a  concert  room,  from  which  is 
pouring  forth  such  melody  as  the  walls  of  no  Metropo 
litan  ever  echoed.  Oh,  I  hope  you  love  the  forests, 
fields  and  flowers,  else  I  shall  not  be  disposed  to  psk 
you  to  ride  with  me,  especially  in  this  cozy  way,  in  the 
old  chaise  with  Dolly  the  pony.  See  how  very  nice 
and  sleek  she  looks — and  she  likes  a  ride  almost  as  well 
as  I. 

We  will  go  up  by  the  river  bank — how  the  waters 
gleam  and  sparkle  in  the  morning  sun ;  and  here  is  the 
eddy  curling  so  gracefully  underneath  the  rocks.  How 


326  TII£    MYRTLE    WREATH. 

many  hours  I  have  spent  in  childhood  on  that  sunny 
bank,  and  climbing  over  those  rocks.  Here  is  where 
the  bend  in  the  crescent  meadow  begins,  and  those  great 
boulders  may  be  worn  for  ages  by  the  current  and  they 
will  not  perceptibly  diminish. 

On  our  right  is  the  river,  and  on  our  left,  "  a  little 
strip  of  meadow-land,"  "  in  which  the  farmer  sows  his 
seed,"  which  yields  abundantly  of"  all  the  fruits  of  the 
earth."  Across  the  river,  too,  is  a  meadow,  and  those 
two  white  cottages  you  seeflooking  like  twins,  are  oc 
cupied  by  two  twin  brothers,  who  have  lived  there  all 
their  lives  and  grown  rich  with  the  products  of  that 
little  bit  of  land.  There  is  a  village  near  by,  but  I  do 
not  see  as  it  has  grown  any  since  I  can  remember,  and 
all  along  among  the  hills,  as  far  as  the  eye  can  see,  a 
steeple  rnay  be  seen  nestling  among  the  trees. 

I  wonder  if  it  is  association  that  makes  the  spire  so 
picturesque  and  so  welcome  a  sight  to  the  traveller  in 
New  England  ? 

Here  comes  a  little  brook,  leaping  and  skipping  and 
dimpling  along.  Oh,  how  I  love  its  merry  music.  How 
many  castles,  of  new  shingles,  have  I  built  upon  its  bor 
ders,  and  how  many  hours  with  a  troop  of  merry  cou 
sins  have  I  "  played  go  a-visiting"  from  castle  to  castle, 
where  we  have  eaten  and  drunk  from  broken  bits  of 
china  imaginary  tea  and  pastry,  with  a  better  relish 
than  any  substantial  viands  havo  ever  afforded  since. 


OUR  VALLEY.  327 

How  many  apple  pies  and  dumplings  I  have  made  on 
that  rock,  with  the  sparkling  sand  for  spice  and  pebbles 
for  plates.  How  many  fishes  I  have  tried  to  catch  in 
those  little  nooklets  with  a  crooked  pin,  and  a  bit  of 
flannel  for  a  "  bait,"  which  the  fishes  always  knew  better 
than  to  taste  ! 

But  Dolly  does  not  care  about  these  pleasant  remem 
brances,  and  is  in  a  hurry  to  go  on, — so  here  we  are  at 
the  top  of  the  bill,  and  here  is  an  old  castle  of  a  house, 
that  would  pass  very  well  for  a  ruin,  and  is  emblemati 
cal  of  the  ruined  hopes  and  expectations  of  him  who 
built  it. — He  was  a  singing  master,  and  sung  himself 
out  of  house  and  home.  Its  present  possessor  is  not 
given  to  "  fixing  up,"  and  so  there  it  stands,  a  blight  on 
this  fair  scene.  Near  by  is  a  little  brook,  and  not  far 
away  I  hear  the  music  of  the  foaming  cascade,  as  it 
bounds  over  the  hill,  and  remember  well  how  I  once 
played  truant,  and  climbed  up  among  the  bushes  and 
crumbling  rocks  to  take  a  shower  bath,  "  all  for 
nothing,"  and  came  very  near  being  turned  into  u 
waterfall  myself. 

But  now  look  abroad,  and  whilst  you  are  gazing  I 
will  tell  you  that  I  am  not  alone  in  thinking  this  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  landscape  views  this  world  affords. 

A  friend  of  mine  was  dining  at  the  American  Hotel 
in  Paris,  and  a  gentleman  whom  she  did  not  know, 
and  who  did  not  know  her,  was  relating  his  journeyings 


328  THE   MYRTLE  WREATH. 

and  telling  of  the  beautiful  spots  he  had  seen  in  the  old 
world  and  in  the  new,'  when  suddenly  her  attention  was 
arrested  by  a  picture  she  could  not  fail  to  recognise, 
for  she  had  gazed  upon  it  often  from  this  very  hill-top. 
He  had  been  in  every  State  in  our  Union,  and  in  most 
of  the  countries  of  Europe,  and  he  had  found  but  one 
scene  to  rival  this  in  loveliness,  and  that  was  in  the  north 
of  France. 

Was  not  this  a  compliment  to  "  Our  Valley,"  which 
we  may  be  proud  to  repeat  ? 

This  is  "  Ingall's  Hill,"  and  for  miles  you  can  see  the 
river  winding  through  the  luxuriant  meadows, — the 
mountains  stretching  far  away  in  the  distance  till  they 
are  lost  in  the  blue  ether,  and  I  can  point  to  you  the 
spot  wrhere  thev  corne  down  to  the  verv  water's  edo-e, 

L  V  V  &  / 

on  both  sides  of  the  stream,  and  terminate  the  valley  on 
the  South,  by  taking  hold  of  hands,  and  giving  the  river 
only  a  very  narrow  passage  to  make  its  way  onward  to 
the  sea.  Only  the  artist's  pencil  can  give  you  any  idea 
of  the  beauty  and  variety  which  you  can  behold  at  one 
glance  of  mountain  and  valley,  and  river  and  streamlet, 
and  dingle  and  dell. 

But  look,  there  is  something  you  might  see  only  once 
in  coming  a  hundred  times.  A  deer  has  been  startled 
from  his  leafy  covert.  Our  voices  have  reached  him — 
how  he  trembles — away  he  bounds,  over  the  fence,  up 
the  mountain,  and  is  lost  in  the  forest. 


OUR   VALLEY.  329 

Is  it  not  a  beautiful  sight — how  fortunate  that  yon 
came  to  day,  for  though  I  pass  over  very  often,  it  is  not 
as  frequently  as  every  season  that  a  deer  crosses  my 
pathway.  This  is  worth  putting  in  your  note-book. 

I  am  sometimes  asked  by  those  whose  vision  is 
bounded  by  brick  walls,  and  who  never  even  saw  a 
mountain,  if  we  are  not  afraid  to  go  forth  lest  the  bears 
and  wolves  devour  us  ?  To  which  I  answer,  the  bears 
and  wolves  have  all  departed,  but  we  have  plenty  of 
dears!  You  have  seen  one,  perhaps  you  will  see  more! 

There  is  a  flock  of  ducks  sailing  in  the  river,  arranged 
in  regular  rank  and  file.  See  them  dip  their  heads  in 
the  water,  first  one,  then  all,  without  disturbing  their 
soldierly  dignity  and  etiquette.  Did  you  know  before 
that  they  always  sail  as  the  wild  geese  fly,  in  the  form 
of  a  triangle,  which  is  exactly  the  form  of  an  old-fash 
ioned  harrow  ?  But  I  presume  you  know  nothing  about 
it,  for  they  must  be  greater  geese  than  any  I  ever  saw 
if  they  permit  their  qua  qua  to  be  heard  amidst  the 
rattle,  and  clang,  and  clatter  of  a  great  city.  They  are 
great  geese,  but  they  are  wiser  than  that! 

The  meadows  form  the  most  delightful  feature  in  the 
landscape.  Here  the  river  runs  along  close  under  the 
hill,  and  a  little  farther  on  makes  a  graceful  curve,  and 
flows  smoothly  between  two  rich  intervals,  which  in 
another  freak  it  soon  terminates,  and  finds  shelter  be 
neath  an  overhanging  cliff  on  the  other  side.  Here  an 


330  THE    MYHTLE   W11KAT1I. 

elm  and  there  an  oak,  and  then  a  butternut,  is  throwing 
its  graceful  shadows  o'er  the  field,  and  if  a  painter  had 
stood  on  this  hill,  and  decided  how  many  should  be  left 
for  ornament,  and  how  they  should  be  arranged,  I  think 
the  effect  would  not  have  been  more  perfect  to  your 
eye. 

We  might  stand  all  day  gazing,  and  should  not 
weary,  but  before  we  return  I  must  take  you  into  this 
old  fashioned  farm  house,  where  you  shall  see  how  our 
worthy  grandmothers  lived,  for  the  maiden  ladies,  who 
dwell  here,  adhere  to  the  primitive  simplicity  of  the 
olden  time. 

Their  father  was  a  brave  soldier  in  the  wars,  and  they 
had  two  brothers ;  one  who  went  to  seek  his  fortune  in 
other  lands,  and  the  other  who  lived  with  them  unmar 
ried  till  he  died,  and  left  them  alone  to  "  keep  house  " 
and  take  care  of  the  farm ;  and  should  you  see  how 
well  they  manage  it  you  would  be  convinced  what  wo 
man  can  do  when  thrown  upon  her  own  resources. 

Here  you  shall  walk  upon  the  "  sanded  floor,"  upon 
which  you  may  be  careful  not  to  "  drop  your  bread  and 
butter,"  and  look  upon  unpainted  walls  scoured  to  snowy 
whiteness.  You  shall  see  beds  of  down  and  patchwork 
quilts,  and  blankets  of  wool  which  they  "picked"  and 
carded,  and  spun  and  wove,  and  sheets  made  of  flax 
which  they  raised  and  bleached,  and  "  made  into  cloth  ;" 
rivalling  even  "  Holland  "  itself. 


OUR    VALLEY.  331 

The  table-cloth  will  dazzle  your  eyes,  as  will  also  those 
rows  of  pewter  on  the  "  dressers,"  and  you  will  wonder 
by  what  process  these  knives  and  spoons  are  burnished  ; 
and  I  shall  be  obliged  to  tell  you  that  they  use  an  in 
gredient  which  is  almost  banished  from  modern  kitch 
ens,  though  so  plenty  in  the  days  of  our  grandames, 
which  is,  "  elbow  grease."  You  shall  have  "  boiled 
dish  "  for  dinner,  and  tea,  real  "  Suchang,"  in  those  tiny 
cups,  and  "  puff  biscuit"  and  butter  which  looks  as  if 
it  were  made  of  butter  cups,  and  such  a  dumpling  as 
you  never  tasted.  And  you  shall  be  regaled  with  con 
versation  that  is  as  rare  as  your  repast,  so  spiced  with 
common  sense  and  mother  wit,  and  anecdotes  of  the 
early  settlers — for  they  are  old  ladies  now7 — and  you 
shall  admire  (if  you  do  not  I  will  never  forgive  you,) 
their  dresses  of  genuine  homespun,  cut  after  a  pattern 
which  has  not  varied  for  fifty  years,  and  wrhich  has  per 
mitted  them  to  enjoy  health  all  the  days  of  their  lives. 

Here  they  have  lived  always,  entirely  secluded  from 
the  world,  seldom  ever  visiting  their  neighbors,  and 
never  indulging  in  gossip,  and  seemingly  contented  and 
happy.  The  rudest  lips  never  mention  their  names  but 
with  respect,  and  the  most  indifferent  heart  yields  a 
cordial  tribute  to  their  homely  virtues.  "With  what  a 
hearty  welcome  you  are  invited  to  come  again,  and  is 
not  such  hospitality  the  richest  treat  you  have  had  for 
many  a  day  ? 


332  THE    MYRTLE  WREATH. 

We  must  go  home  now,  and  Dolly  is  in  fine  order 
too,  for  she  has  been  cropping  clover.  See  how  she 
pricks  up  her  ears,  now  she  is  homeward  bound;  I  shall 
always  quarrel  with  those  who  deny  to  her  thought  and 
intelligence.  1  had  rather  take  a  ride  with  her  any  time 
than  with  some  stupid  bipeds  I  could  mention,  and  some 
day  we  will  take  another,  dear  reader,  you  and  I,  and 
see  if  she  does  not  enjoy  it  as  well  as  we 


AUTUMN. 

I  hope  you  have  not  forgotten  me,  and  DoHy  the  pony, 
though  it  is  a  long  while  since  I  asked  you  to  take  a 
ride. 

Just  now  I  am  sitting  on  the  terrace  steps,  and  Dolly 
is  in  the  orchard  that  I  told  you  about  at  the  foot  of 
the  hil[,  and  lazy  sheep  are  scattered  over  the  fields  be 
yond.  The  men  are  harvesting  in  the  meadows,  and 
one  of  those  light  delicate  veils  of  haze  is  spread  over  all 
the  hills  and  valleys,  for  which  our  Autumn,  and  espe 
cially  our  Indian  summer,  is  so  renowned. 

Oh !  for  the  painter's  magic  pencil,  that  I  might  place 


OUR     VALLEY.  333 

it  before  you  in  all  its  beauty,  this  little  valley  of  ours, 
for 

"  There's  not  in  this  wide  world  a  valley  so  sweet 
As  this  vale  in  whose  bosom  the  bright  waters  meet." 

The  mountains  are  just  now  in  their  glorious  autumn 
hues,  and  a  slight  breeze  stirs  the  leaves  to  give  them  a, 
gentle  motion.  I  hear  the  music  of  their  rustling,  and  see 
the  ever  varying  lights  and  shadows  on  the  hill  side,  and 
by  the  stream  ;  a  few  birds  are  lingering  here  and  there 
upon  the  branches,  and  send  forth  a  deeper  and  more 
melodious  song — at  least  it  seems  so  to  me — because 
perhaps  it  is  a  little  tinged  with  sadness;  for  I  know 
they  do  not  like  to  leave  their  summer  homes  and  me 
here  among  the  mountain  wilds,  and  flee  far  away.  Oh, 
I  am  guilty  often  of  wishing  with  the  little  boy  in  the 
primer  that  "  summer  would  last  always."  I  am*sad  at 
her  departing,  but  if  she  were  always  here  I  should 
not  have  the  joyous  thrill  which  returning  Spring  sends 
through  my  soul,  and  the  glad  songs  of  the  myriads  of 
songsters,  as  glad  as  T,  at  the  brightness  and  freshness, 
and  beauty  of  the  spring-time  ;  neither  should  I  have 
this  delicious  dreamy  sadness  which  infuses  itself 
through  my  soul,  and  gives  a  mellowness  to  my  feelings, 
that  is  sweeter  than  joy 

The  snows  are  kinder  than  usual  this  season,  and 
Moose  hillock  is  still  bald — grand  old  mountain  that  he 
is — how  I  wish  I  could  make  you  as  much  in  love  with 


334  THE    MYRTLE  WREATH. 

him  as  T  am.  But  there  are  no  humming  birds  no.w, 
and  the  gooseberry  bushes  have  laid  aside  their  summer 
robes. 

The  delicate  tinted  summer  flowers,  too,  are  gone ; 
but  the  gay  marigolds  are  in  all  their  glory,  and  the 
little  violets  are  the  very  last  to  hide  their  heads,  because 
the  coarse  bleak  wind  is  coming,  and  never  for  the 
rudest  blast  do  they  turn  pale.  They  are  conscious  of 
their  purity  and  truth,  and  like  many  other  modest 
flowers,  will  live  and  blossom  \vhere  they  can  be  most 
useful,  smiling  alike  in  the  storm  and  the  sunshine — 
looking  up  so  cheerful  with  their  cheeks  resting  upon 
the  brown  earth  whilst  all  their  companions  are  shrink 
ing  and  withering,  and  all  the  green  leaves  are  faded. 
Oh !  how  I  love  them ;  and  not  for  all  the  grand  par 
terres*  in  Christendom  would  I  part  with  this  little  bed 
of  violets,  that  even  the  frost  and  the  snows  cannot 
chill. 

Here  is  the  bright  little  snow  drop,  too. — The  leaves 
are  all  scattered,  and  the  berries  are  left  alone  on  the 
slender  woody  stem,  and  yet  it  is  not  disheartened.  I  love 
all  things  that  bear  up  courageously,  and  quietly  per 
form  their  mission,  let  what  will  oppose. 

There  is  now  and  then  a  butterfly  flitting  about, 
and  a  catterpillar  under  every  dead  leaf,  but  the  bees 
have  ceased  their  humming,  and  we  have  stolen  a  good 
ly  portion  of  their  summer  labor,  for  our  Valley  is  a 


OUR  VALLEY.  335 

land  "  flowing  with  milk  and  honey,"  and  many  other 
delicious  things,  as  I  will  prove  to  you,  dear  reader,  if 
you  will  come  and  take  tea  with  me  some  time.  You 
have  no  idea  what  delicious  pies  I  can  make,  though 
very  likely  you  will  not  believe  a  word  of  it,  because 
you  know  I  am  in  the  habit  of  flourishing  this  old 
goose  quill  so  dextrously  ! 

You  think  I  know  nothing  about  pudding  sticks  ; 
how  I  wish  you  could  just  taste  of  my  hominy,  which  I 
make  in  a  little  kettle  over  one  of  Stewart's  stoves,  and 
which,  when  finished,  we  eat  in  little  blue  bowls,  up  to 
the  rim  in  milk.  And  if  you  don't  like  hominy  you  may 
have  sweet  apples.  Why,  yes,  and  baked  pumpkin, 
which  will  make  your  mouth  water  for  ever  after.  And 
such  hoe  cakes,  and  drop  cakes,  and  griddle  cakes,  and 
all  kinds  of  cakes,  so  much  the  sweeter,  you  know,  for 
my  fingers  having  been  in  them  ;  and  I  assure  you  the 
ink  was  all  washed  off! 

But  I  resilly  intended,  when  I  began,  to  ask  you  to 
take  another  ride  over  the  hills,  or  down  to  the  village, 
or  out  to  the  Lilly  pond ;  for  the  ways  wre  might  go  are 
innumerable,  and  Dolly  really  looks  disappointed  that 
she  cannot  go,  just  because  I  have  been  so  long  gab- 
bmg  away  here  about  nothing.  But  it  is  too  late  now 
— the  days  are  short,  and  we  should  not  get  home  be 
fore  dark  :  so  you  must  excuse  me  though  we  w7ill  take 
a  little  walk,  if  you  please. 


-  TIIi:    MYRTLE    WREATH. 

"  Down  the  lane"  is  one  of  my  favorite  strolls  ;  and 
though  it  would  be  more  polite,  perhaps,  to  leave  the 
choice  to  you,  I  take  the  liberty  of  deciding,  because  I 
am  so  much  better  acquainted  with  the  localities.  If 
we  pass  along  under  the  hill,  and  jump  over  this,  fence, 
(I  am  sorry  to  ask  you  to  do  so  unladylike  a  thing,  but 
there  is  no  other  way,)  and  then  through  these  bars,  we 
come  to  the  spot  where  the  first  house  was  built,  more 
than  a  hundred  years  ago.  It  is  what  you  would  call  a 
hut;  but  in  it  there  lived  a  good  man  "  all  of  the  olden 
time,"  and  a  wife  who  was  a  genuine  help-meet  in  the 
days  of  "wars  and  rumors  of  wars,"  arid  there  grew  up 
children  and  children's  children,  who  have  been  an 
honor  to  Church  and  State. 

The  ashes  of  the  old  house  are  still  here,  a  little  fur 
ther  on,  near  the  river's  bank,  are  yet  to  be  seen  the 
remnants  of  an  Indian  Camp,  for  this  crescent  meadow 
was  once  their  favorite  camping  ground,  and  often  the 
plough  and  spade  bring  to  light  some  of  their  rude 
implements,  a  war  club,  or  hatchet,  or  arrow,  where  are 
now  cultivated  the  rich  uroducts  of  weath  and  civiliz 
ation. 

The  river  here  is  distinguished  by  the  name  of  "  The 
falls,"  though  I  can  hardly  tell  why,  as  there  is  no  per- 
ceptible  "falling  from  its  high  estate;"  and  here  it  is 
shaded  by  magnificent  oaks,  and  elms,  and  butter  nuts  ; 
underneath  them  on  this  little  plat  would  be  a  nice 


OUR   VALLEY.  337 

place  for  a  pic-nic  ;  and  if  you  will  come  to  see  me  in 
the  "  merry  month  of  June,"  we  will  have  one,  and  you 
shall  see  whether  I  can  do  nothing  but  scribble.  But  it 
will  never  do  to  be  out  after  sun-set,  so  I  must  bid  you 
good  night. 


WINTER. 

You  will  wonder  what  I  can  have  to  say  for  Our  Val 
ley  in  Winter,  when  we  are  all  buried  up  in  snow ;  but 
you  are  not  capable  of  appreciating  what  is  grand,  if 
you  do  not  think  it  a  glorious  sight  when  the  sun  rises 
over  Moose  hillock  on  a  winter's  morning,  and  every 
snow-flake  is  a  glistening  star;  when  the  icicles  are 
hanging  from  every  tree  and  roof,  and  the  plain  is  like 
a  sea  of  molten  silver.  Never  am  I  more  in  love  with 
the  mountains,  than  on  a  cold  day  in  January,  when  a 
fierce  storm  is  raging  and  the  winds  are  howling,  and 
the  dark  forest  trees  are  swaying  to  and  fro,  scattering 
their  fleecy  robes  upon  the  hill  sides. 

A  snow  storm  !  It  almost  chills  one  to  speak  it,  and 
it  is  not  very  pleasant  to  endure;  but  to  stand  where 
you  are  shielded  from  its  rage,  and  see  it  sweep  through 
15 


338  THE  MYHTLE  WllKATII. 

the  valley,  is  to  gaze  on  a  scene  which  only  a  storm  at 
sea  can  equal.  But  when  it  is  over,  what  a  merry  time 
we  have,  peering  through  the  snowdrifts  which  have 
piled  themselves  to  our  very  roofs,  and  what  a  famous 
shovelling  and  sweeping  there  is  over  all  the  neighbor 
hood,  before  we  can  be  neighbors.  Then  the  snow- 
paths,  are  they  not  clean  and  nice,  with  walls  on  each 
side  above  your  head — what  a  pleasant  sound  is  the 
creaking  of  your  new  boots  as  you  hurry  along — how 
much  younger  you  look  when  the  mountain  .breeze  h;is 
kissed  your  cheek,  and  if  you  are  a  lady  this  is  of  great 
consequence  !  and  how  much  younger  you  feel  when  re 
freshed  by  a  draught  of  the  morning  air,  which  comes 
to  you  fresh  from  the  fountains  where  it  is  distilled,  with 
nothing  but  purity  to  breathe  on  as  it  passes. 

But  you  would  like  to  know  what  we  do  in  winter 
time  to  amuse  ourselves,  and  help  the  weary  hours  to 
drag  away.  Oh,  we  know  nothing  about  weary  hours 
like  you  city  people.  We  are  quiet  "  country  folks," 
and  the  days  roll  pleasantly  along  without  any  special 
assistance. 

We  call  it  Fall  till  the  snow  comes,  and  then  Winter 
till  it  is  gone,  and  this  is  the  longest  season  of  the  year. 
But  we  are  so 'well  acquainted  writh  him,  that  Winter  al 
ways  finds  us  ready.  We  know  very  well  what  a  frown 
he  will  wear  if  there  is  an  ear  of  corn  unharvested,  or 
pumpkin  left  in  the  field.  Every  farmer,  when  he  is 


OUR    VALLEY.  339 

married,  listens  to  this  solemn  injunction  from  the  lips 
of  the  minister : 

"  Be  kind,  be  good, 
And  keep  your  wife  in  oven-wood." 

And  it  is  most  religiously  remembered.  All  the  wood 
sheds  are  full  of  "four-foot  sticks,"  which  "the  boys" 
spend  their  leisure  hours  in  "  sawing,"  before  school  or 
when  it  is  too  stormy  to  go  "  sledding." 

Our  first  grand  festival  is  Thanksgiving,  but  I  have 
told  you  about  that  in  another  place.  The  three  weeks 
previous  are  spent  in  feeding  the  chickens  and  "  cram 
ming  the  turkeys,"  making  the  pies,  and  "  getting  things 
ready."  There  is  some  pleasure  in  having  a  feast  when 
you  have  only  one  in  a  year,  and  the  pleasure  of  a  coun 
try  Thanksgiving  lasts  a  whole  month. 

By  the  time  it  is  fairly  over,  it  is  the  week  to  "  kill 
pigs !"  You  are  wondering  if  I  call  this  one  of  the 
amusements  !  In  the  eyes  of  some  people  excitement 
and  amusement  are  synonymous,  and  most  surely  it  is  a 
time  of  great  excitement  when  some  twenty  or  thirty 
stout  porkers  are  led  forth  to  slaughter.  The  men  and 
boys,  and  especially  the  butchers,  seem  to  enjoy  it  ex 
ceedingly,  and  the  old  lady  who  is  the  presiding  genius 
in  the  kitchen  in  all  the  country  round  on  those  occa 
sions,  is  in  her  element.  What  great  fires  are  necessary 
for  the  great  kettles,  and  what  a  great  sputtering  is  kept 
up  by  their  contents. 


340  THE    MYRTLE  WREATH 

If  you  never  "  made  sausages,"  or  "  scraped  souse," 
I  shall  not  be  able  to  convince  you  that  it  is  a  very  sci 
entific  and  interesting  process.  What  wise  consultations 
are  held  whether  sage  or  "  summer  savory  "  is  th^e  "  best 
seasoning,"  and  as  to  the  best  process  of  "  taking  out 
spare-ribs  "  and  "  curing  hams," — how  "  pork  should  be 
salted,"  and  "  beef  put  down."  But  the  worst  part  of 
it  is  that  we  are  obliged  to  eat  such  enormous  quanti 
ties  in  order  to  keep  it  from  spoiling 

So  the  "  killing  pigs  "  keeps  the  house  in  a  turmoil  a 
whole  week.  At  the  end  of  this  time  we  begin  to  think 
of  Christmas,  though  among  the  genuine  descendants 
of  the  Puritans  this  is  not  permitted  to  take  its  place 
among  the  festivals.  We  make  a  few  more  pies,  though 
there  are  yet  left  several  rows  of  those  which  were  made 
in  honor  of  Thanksgiving,  and  perhaps  roast  a  turkey, 
bake  a  chicken-pie,  and  "  go  into  some  of  the  neighbors 
and  spend  the  evening,"  where  we  have  apples,  pop  corn 
and  butternuts  for  "refreshments,"  and  talk  about  the 
"news"  in  the  "last  paper;"  and  "news"  is  not  so 
plenty  in  our  village  that  it  is  an  "  old  story." 

Every  mornirg  somebody  goes  to  the  Post  Office 
and  as  often  as  once  or  twice  a  week  somebody  has  a 
letter.  Two  or  three  times  in  the  course  of  the  winter 
we  "  have  company,"  and  such  luxuriant  "  teas  "  as  we 
have,  and  such  merry  times,  where  company  is  a  rarity  ! 

There  is  no  good  thing  in  all  the  catalogue  of  cookery, 


OUR   VALLEY.  341 

with  which  the  table  is  not  loaded,  and  the  centre  dish  is 
a  pyramid  of  that  delicious  honey,  which  was  made  by 
the  bees  that  I  told  you  about.  There  are  biscuits  as 
"  light  as  a  feather,"  and  cold  bread  for  dyspeptics — 
there  are  mince-pies  and  apple  pies,  and  tarfs,  plum  cake, 
pound  cake,  loaf-cake,  and  "  cake  that  is  so  plain  it  will 
not  hurt  you  if  you  eat  ever  so  much ;"  there  are 
quince  preserves  and  peach  preserves,  and  plum — be 
sides  the  honey — four  plates  of  butter  and  two  plates 
of  cheese — and  such  butter  and  such  cheese,  as  is  made 
only  in  Our  Vallley. 

So  you  see  it  is  not  what  some  people  call  a  TEA,  where 
you  have  a  thimble  full  of  the  steaming  beverage,  a  bit 
of  bread  and  cake  just  the  size  of  your  tongue,  and  the 
rest  in  gentility. 

"  New- Years  "  is  not  made  "  much  account  of;"  the 
young  people  perhaps  "  get  up  a  sleigh-ride,"  and  the 
old  people  pay  a  visit  to  the  minister ;  but  before  Jan 
uary  departs,  we  have  a  "  thaw,"  and  during  this  I 
really  cannot  say  much  for  Our  Valley.  It  is  neither 
Winter  nor  Spring,  nor  any  other  respectable  time. 
The  leaves  do  not  dare  to  come  out  and  the  river  does 
not  dare  to  run — and  yet  they  are  exceedingly  rebellious 
in  their  bonds. 

Sometimes  we  have  a  freshet  in  mid-winter,  when  the 
ice  breaks  up  with  a  great  crash,  and  bridges  are  "  car 
ried  away  " — the  meadows  are  overflown  and  trees  up- 


342  THE    MYRTLE  WREATH. 

rooted,  and  "  great  damage  "  is  done  to  "  property  "  for 
miles  up  and  down  the  river.  This  causes  great  excite 
ment,  and  gives  us  opportunity  for  sympathy  and  ear 
nest  talk  for  weeks. 

During  February,  which  is  the  coldest  month,  we  bur' 
row  very  much  like  the  animals.  It  is  of  no  use  trying 
to  do  anything  but  keep  warm,  and  even  this  is  not  quite 
possible.  There  are  not  so  many  storms,  but  every 
body  you  meet  will  say,  "it  is  bitter  cold  " — the  very 
air  is  blue — you  can  see  it  and  feel  it,  though  it  moves 
not — it  is  heavy  and  still,  and  presses  upon  you  like  a 
weight.  Yes,  we  begin  to  grow  a  little  weary  of  win 
ter  before  he  is  gone,  and  are  never  guilty  of  "  wishing 
winter  would  last  always."  The  jingle  of  the  bells,  as 

"  Swift  we  go 
O'er  the  fleecy  snow," 

becomes  less  'musical — the  snow-birds  and  blue-jays  are 
pretty  and  sprightly,  but  they  do  not  sing.  The  low 
ing  of  the  kine  is  not  a  pleasant  sound  from  the  stall — 
and  though  Dolly  the  pony  is  just  as  clever,  and  "  car 
ries  a  sleigh  beautifully,"  we  lose  our  sociability.  I  can 
not  spend  so  much  time  talking  with  her  and  patting 
her ;  and  she  evidently  does  not  enjoy  the  rides  as  she 
does  in  Summer,  when  we  jog  along  so  cozily. 

Yes,  we  are  glad  when  the  sun  revisits  our  northern 
sphere,  and  bids  the  waterfalls  go  dancing  again,  the 
rills  leap  forth,  the  trees  blossom,  and  the  grass  spring 


OUR    VALLEY.  343 

up.  How  everything  awakes  with  light  and  life  and 
joy.  Oh  yes,  and  then  it  seems  to  us  that  Our  Valley 
is  more  beautiful  than  ever. 

And  who  has  seen  the  merry  April  shower 
When  dancing  on  the  springing  grass ;  and  watched 
The  curling  bud  and  tender  leaf  unfold 
To  drink  the  crystal  drops,  and  give  their  first 
Fresh  perfume  forth,  to  bathe  the  zephyr's  wing 
And  fill  the  air  with  fragrance — heard  the  songs 
Of  birds  from  every  bush  and  tree-top— seen 
The  bright  green  moss  o'erspread  the  crumbling  rock 
And  fallen  tree,  and  heard  some  joyous  sound 
From  every  living  thing,  and  has  not  felt 
His  heart  beat  warm  with  gratitude  and  love? 
The  Hand  that  ruled  the  wintry  wind,  and  quelled 
The  raging  storm,  now  leads  the  sunshine  forth, 
And  beauty  glides  o'er  all  the  waking  earth. 


HOW  often  have  I  gazed  with  pleasure,  on  the  face 
where  rested  that  peculiarly  bright  yet  quiet  ex 
pression,  which  nothing  else  in  life  can  give,  but  a  happy 
love.  There  is  no  longer  the  restlessness  of  her  whose 
affections  are  still  wandering  about,  and  find  no  rest 
ing  place.  There  may  be  yet  a  thousand  plans  for  her 
to  make — she  may  be  still  ignorant  of  the  place  of  her 
future  home — she  may  anticipate  a  weary  journey  and 
wandering  life,  but  there  is  no  sleepless  anxiety  or 
troubled  thought — her  heart  has  found  a  home  ! 

(341) 


AMELIA.  345 

The  admiring  homage  of  thousands  would  not  now 
add  one  gleam  to  her  smile — one  glance  alone  can  light 
it  with  unwonted  brightness.  No  skillful  physiogno. 
mist  need  falter  a  moment  in  reading  the  countenance  of 
a  true-hearted  woman.  Amid  all  the  lights  and  shad 
ows,  there  is  one  pure,  softened  ray,  which  nothing  else 
can  kindle  in  the  eye  of  the  betrothed.  Not  less  pure, 
but  more  brilliant,  is  that  of  the  wedded  wife,  but  with 
none  of  the  sparkling  flashes  of  the  coquette  ! 

Never  was  this  more  perceptible  than  in  Amelia. — 
Hers  had  never  been  a  fluttering  heart,  nor  a  spirit  dis 
turbed  by  every  passing  breeze.  If  any  censure  had 
been  spoken  concerning  her,  it  would  have  been  that  she 
had  not  sufficient  animation,  and  many  would  have  seen 
in  her  few  attractions. 

It  was  in  her  home  and  at  the  fireside  that  she  must 
be  seen  to  be  appreciated.  She  was  not  one  of  the  or 
naments  of  society  ;  for  she  mingled  not  with  the  world, 
and  her  great  reserve  and  extreme  sensibility  deterred 
her  from  active  interest  in  others.  It  was  only  a  confid 
ing  friendship  that  understood  her  character,  the  pervad 
ing  element  of  which  was  sweetness  ;  and  I  did  not  know 
her  with  the  intimacy  of  sweet  communion,  till  grief  had 
entered  her  bosom,  and  was  performing  with  fidelity  the 
silent  work  of  the  destroyer. 

Day  by  day,  I  saw  her  happy,  and  I  knew,  what  all 
15* 


346  THE    MYRTLE  WREATH. 

the  world  knew  then,  that  she  was  engaged  to  Robert 

S ;  and  all  who  knew  him  said  he  was  a  noble, 

high-minded  man,  worthy  of  Amelia.  He  had  not 
wealth,  but  the  ambition  and  energy  which'  insure  the 
attainment  of  it.  He  was  intellectual,  intelligent,  and 
fascinating ;  and  many  and  warm  were  the  congratula 
tions  they  received,  as  the  bright  prospect  opened  be 
fore  them. 

How  often  have  I  found  her  reading  a  letter,  and 
"  from  whom  can  it  be  ?"  I  would  whisper  archly ;  but 
I  had  only  that  beaming  smile  for  answer,  as  she  would 
lift  the  lid  of  a  beautiful  papier  mache  box — his  gift — 
and  show  me  a  dozen,  among  which  this  would  be  de 
posited,  and  then  she  quickly  turned  the  key,  lest  they 
should  be  desecrated  by  even  a  look  from  indifferent 
eyes. 

She  had  a  bible  which  he  gave  her,  too ;  and  it  was 
always  lying  on  the  little  table  by  her  bedside,  to  read 
the  last  thing  before  she  shut  her  eyes  to  dream  of  him, 
and  the  first  to  meet  them  in  the  morning. 

How  she  loved  to  talk  of  their  home,  and  how  happy 
she  was  with  her  needle  preparing  for  domestic  com 
fort,  and  planning  household  arrangements.  How 
proudly  she  exhibited  the  chest  of  linen  and  the  patch 
work  quilts,  in  which  were  no  stitches  but  those  by  her 
own  fingers 

For  a  year  this  happiness  lasted,  and  then  he  left  her 


AMELIA.  347 

for  a  distant  clime.  As  they  talked  over  the  "  days  of 
absence."  she  would  sometimes  say,  "And  what  if  .you 
should  change,  Eobert  ?"  But  this  she  did  without  a 
thought  that  it  could  ever  happen  ;  he  would  as  soon 
have  thought  of  suicide  as  change. 

In  a  year  he  would  be  back  again,  and  then  they 
would  part  no  more  forever.  Every  pleasant  haunt  was 
visited,  and  every  fond  vow  repeated.  Her  cup  of  hap 
piness  was  full ;  and  for  many  weeks,  aye,  months,  no 
doubt  or  fear  disturbed  it. 

His  letters  were,  at  first,  the  gushing  springs  from  the 
overflowing  fountain  ;  but  by  degrees  they  became  cold 
and  restrained.  Every  expression  of  affection  seemed 
forced,  and  she  felt  the  contrast,  before  her  mind  could 
decide  in  what  it  existed. 

It  was  an  effort  now  to  be  cheerful ;  yet  she  chid 
herself  for  distrust.  She  looked  within  her  own  bosom, 
and  said,  "  It  is  impossible  the  heart  can  change."  Again 
she  wandered  by  the  brook  and  in  the  grove,  to  rekindle 
the  memory  of  those  solemn  pledges,  to  revive  the  look, 
the  tone,  so  dear  to  her ;  and  then  would  hope  spring 
up  again,  and  she  would  feel  sure  that  time  wrould  un 
fold  the  mystery,  and  all  would  be  right — that  is,  as  her 
heart  wished. 

Shall  we  follow  him  to  those  sunny  bowers  ?  It  is 
possible  for  us,  though  impossible  for  her ;  I  heard  it 
from  his  lips,  and  therefore  it  must  be  true. 


348  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

He  is  not  alone ;  there  is  one  who  talks  and  walks 
and  reads  with -him,  and  with  whom  he  thinks  it  no 
harm  to  talk,  to  walk,  and  read  ;  for  she  only  wishes  for 
intellectual  companionship.  Her  weeds,  which  are  very 
becoming,  contrast  strikingly  writh  her  delicate  com 
plexion  ;  but  he  has  not  learned  to  read  those  dark  eyes, 
or  he  would  see  something  more  than  intellect  in  their 
unhallowed  glances.  She  knows  he  he  has  left  his  heart 
far  away  in  a  northern  clime,  and  talks  to  him  freely  of 
his  beloved  one,  and  also  of  her  own  desolation — her 
heart  is  in  the  grave ! 

Ah,  man  is  not  alone  the  seducer — woman,  is  not 
alone  the  victim ! 

He  has  fallen  ;  but  her  family  are  among  the  proud  and 
aristocratic — disgrace  must  not  fall  on  them.  He  has 
sinned  and  wronged,  and  must  make  the  only  reparation 
now  left,  to  redeem  the  daughter  of  the  house  from 
infamy  ! 

For  Amelia,  there  was  no  longer  the  pretence  of 
affection ;  the  letters  ceased,  but  without  explanation  ; 
and  at  length  hope  died  ;  but  love  could  only  cease  with 
life.  No  censure  passed  her  lips,  and  no  murmur  was 
heard  from  her  sinking  spirit. 

Day  by  day  the  bloom  faded  from  her  cheek,  and 
sorrow  was  written  upon  her  brow.  I  knew  she  would 
die,  for  her  mind  was  not  one  that  could  be  diverted  by 
amusement,  or  find  employment  by  concentration  of 


AMELIA.  349 

mental  energy.  When  there  was  no  longer  any  object 
for  her  affections,  life  was  without  interest,  and  there 
was  nothing  to  preserve  even  physical  strength. 

She  could  not  endure  the  thought  of  mingling  again 
with  the  thoughtless,  for  her  delicate  nature  would 
shrink  from  the  look  of  pity,  and  would  wither  beneath 
the  look  of  scorn  ;  and  \vell  she  knew  that  both  would 
be  directed  towards  her — desertion  being  almost  as 
sure  a  mark  of  degradation  as  sin  and  shame,  in  vulgar 
minds — the  envious  would  rejoice  and  the  malicious 
triumph. 

I  knew  that  she  had  only  a  little  while  to  live,  and  I 

wrote  to  Eobert  S a  reproachful  letter  such  as  I 

thought  one  deserved  who  had  thus  trifled  with  and 
trampled  upon  such  a  heart. 

He  answered  it ;  but  he  did  not  try  to  palliate  his  guilt. 
He  was  married,  and  silence  was  his  duty,  now  ;  and 
any  expression  of  sympathy  or  regret  would  be  only 
mockery. 

I  prepared  the  way  for  conveying  this  intelligence  to 
Amelia,  as  well  as  I  could,  knowing  that  I  could  not 
soften  it,  so  that  it  would  not  prove  the  death-blow,  yet 
still  thinking  it  best  not  to  withhold  the  stroke. 

The  fountain  of  her  tears  had  long  been  dry,  and  1 
hoped  this  would  bid  them  gush  forth  again.  I  even 
dared  to  hope  that  something  like  scorn  and  hatred 
might  be  fostered  in  her  bosom.  This  can  be  done 


350  THE   MYRTLE  WREATH. 

where  only  fancy  or  passion  has  existed ;  but  anything 
like  revenge,  or  wish  to  injure,  can  never  occupy  the 
place  true  love  has  once  usurped  in  a  noble  heart. 

She  had  lingered  through  the  summer,  and  faded 
with  the  flowers,  yet  she  was  not  confined  J;o  her  bed  ; 
and  every  day  I  read  to  her,  and  brought  her  garlands 
from  the  wood — those  wild  vines  and  blossoms  which 
she  had  so  loved  in  health — and  tried  to  cheer  her  with 
the  hope  of  again  enjoying  the  pleasures  of  life.  But 
this  she"  did  not  desire  ;  she  had  put  her  trust  in  Heaven, 
and  would  talk  of  being  reconciled  to  live,  and  the  hope 
of  being  useful,  if  God  saw  fit  to  keep  her  yet  a  little 
longer  in  the  world ;  but  death  was  the  messenger  she 
longed  to  meet,  and  she  did  not  doubt  of  happiness  in 
Heaven. 

The  iron  had  entered  too  deep  for  the  wound  to  heal ; 
she  could  not  recover  from  such  a  shock.  But  I  had 
no  idea  she  was  so  near  her  end,  and  day  after  day  put 
off  repeating  what  I  knew  must  break  the  last  link  that 
bound  her  to  earth.  If  I  had  reflected  a  little  more 
deeply,  I  should  have  withheld  it. 

It  was  one  of  those  delicious  Indian  summer  evenings, 
when  even  the  invalid  needed  not  to  shun  the  window, 
though  the  golden  tinge  of  Autumn  was  over  all  the 
hills,  when  she  sat  with  her  wasted  hand  in  mine,  and 
both  were  resting  on  the  Bible,  that  I,  for  the  first  time 
for  many  weeks,  alluded  to  him  who  had  wrecked  her 


AMELIA  351 

hopes  and  crushed  her  heart.  There  was  no  bitterness 
in  her  words — some  mystery,  she  said  ;  she  could  not 
believe  it  was  deliberate  wrong. 

I  showed  her  the  letter;  she  read  it  through,  folded 
it,  and  laid  it  upon  the  window  sill,  and  said  she  would 
like  to  answer  it,  if  I  would  write  what  she  wished  to 
say. 

They  were  a  few  words,  expressive  of  confidence  in 
his  truth ;  for  by  inspiration  she  seemed  to  understand 
what  no  one  else  had  faintly  conjectured.  She  spoke 
of  suffering,  and  of  forgiveness — she  should  soon  be  in 
her  grave  ;  but  whilst  she  lived,  her  heart  would  remain 
true,  and  in  death  there  would  be  no  change. 

She  had  ceased  to  speak,  and  the  shadows  of  evening 
were  gathering  around  us.  A  cold  shudder  passed 
over  her  frame,  a  single  flush  crossed  her  pallid  cheek, 
and  then  a  dark  shadow  seemed  to  settle  for  a  moment 
upon  her  brow.  I  soon  saw  it  covered  with  the  clammy 
dews  which  gather  there  only  when  the  icy  hand  of 
death  is  upon  the  heart;  a  few  hurried  and  scarcely 
audible  respirations  followed,  and  her  spirit  had  fled, 
"  where  sorrow,  wrong,  and  trouble,  can  never  torture 
more." 

I  was  left  alone  with  the  clay,  and  could  not  mourn 
that  it  was  no  longer  tenanted.  I  pressed  the  lids  upon 
those  eyes  which  had  so  often  beamed  upon  me  with 
affection,  left  the  sad  office  of  watcher  to  another,  and 


352  THE    MYRTLE    WREATH. 

sought  the  solitude  of  my  room,  to  weep  "  in  agony  that 
would  not  be' controlled" — not  that  she  had  gone — oh, 
no ;  it  was  merciful  to  take  her  away ;  but  I  wept  for 
the  sufferings  of  a  fallen  wrorld.  This  is  the  history  of 
many — oh,  how  many — hearts  ! 

To  the  majority  of  women,  love  is  life — it  is  all  they 
have  to  live  for ;  and  when  it  is  taken  away,  they  have 
not,  like  men,  a  profession,  business,  travel,  and  plea 
sure  to  divert  and  occupy  their  minds.  It  is  a  sorrow 
they  can  never  tell  to  seek  the  healing  balm  of  sympa 
thy — they  have  only  to  sit  down  and  endure. 

Oh,  the  sin  and  wrong  it  is  to  trifle  with  affection — tha 
purest,  holiest,  noblest  gift  which  our  Heavenly  Father  has 
bestowed.  It  is  the  redeeming  element  in  a  fallen  world. 
And  a  nature  which  is  base  enough  deliberately  to  plan 
the  ruin  of  a  trusting,  loving  heart,  or  so  lost  as  to  look 
with  indifference  upon  the  wreck  w7hich  falsehood  and 
betrayal  have  effected,  is  only  fit  for  the  companionship 
of  fiends  and  the  prince  of  darkness. 

But  Robert  8 was  not  one  of  these.  I  had 

scarcely  returned  from  the  solemn  ceremony  of  consign 
ing  "  dust  to  dust,  and  ashes  to  ashes,"  when  I  was  star 
tled  by  the  entrance  of  him  whom  Amelia  had  hoped  to 
see  once  more ;  and  she  was  scarcely  more  changed  in 
the  last  days  before  her  death,  than  he  seemed  as  he 
stood  before  me 

I  could  not  welcome  him,  and  shrunk  from  the  grasp 


AMELIA.  353 

of  his  hand ;  but  he  was  not  a  subject  of  envy  as  he 
listened  to  the  story  of  her  suffering,  and  felt  in  every 
nerve  the  story  of  her  wrong. 

He  besought  me  to  spare  my  reproaches,  for  he 
needed  pity  more  than  blame;  and  I  could  not  withhold 
my  compassion,  as  I  heard  the  confirmation  of  the 
words  of  the  wise  man,  written  so  many  years  ago,  that 
"many  a  strong  man  has  been  slain"  by  the  "fair 
speech  "  and  "  flattering  lips  "  of  the  "  subtle  heart." 

I  went  with  him  to  the  mound  which  covered  the  new- 
made  grave,  and  could  no  longer  doubt  the  agony  of 
his  soul,  as  he  knelt  upon  the  green  turf,  and  shed  the 
tears  which  seemed  wrung  from  his  breaking  heart,  and 
prayed  to  be  forgiven. 

I  stole  silently  away,  and  left  him  alone  with  his  God. 


%  Mintor 

IlECEIVED  ON  A  SICK  BEI>. 


HERE  blooms  the  fair  Camellia, 
With  its  robe  of  purest  white, 

Beside  a  blushing  rosebud 
Just  opening  to  the  light ; 

And  here  are  sweet  Geraniums 

Of  every  varying  hue, 
Entwined  in  pleasing  contrast 

With  the  Heliotrope  of  blue. 

(354) 


THE  WINTER  BOQUET.  355 

There  slyly  peeps  the  Daisy, 

So  lowly  in  its  birth, 
Where  proudly  peers  the  evergreen 

To  shelter  modest  worth. 


And  there  are  countless -blossoms 

In  crimson  blushes  too, 
While  fringed  and  tasseled  leaflets 

Half  shield  them  from  the  view. 


It  is  a  beauteous  garland, 
And  beauty's  spell  I  own, 

Yet  o'er  these  clustering  flow 'rets 
A  holier  charm  is  thrown. 


The  gift  of  one  whose  friendship, 

And  self-denying  love, 
It  needs  not  time  to  halwo, 

Adversity  to    rove  ; 

Whose  heart  with  fervent  sympathy 

In  time  of  trial  glowed, 
And  from  whose  bosom  pity 

In  gentle  current  flowed ; 


356  THE    MYRTLE  WREATH. 

With  brow  all  brightly  beaming, 
•  Where  loftiest  beauty  smiled, 
She  came  with  these  poor  emblems 
To  bless  affliction's  child. 

How  sweet  to  breathe  the  fragrance 
Their  dewy  leaves  impart, 

But  sweeter  far  the  fountain 
Warm  gushing  from  the  heart. 


as  an 


DR.  Johnson  made  it  a  study  before  going  out,  where 
he  should  meet  those  whom  he  would  be  expected  to 
entertain,  what  he  would  say  and  how  he  should  say  it, 
in  order  to  please  and  in  order  to  instruct.  His  sayings 
at  dinners,  clubs,  and  tea-parties  are  familiar  as  house 
hold  words,  but  it  is  not  now  remembered  when  we  re 
peat  them,  how  much  time  he  spent  in  preparing  them, 
and  the  idea  of  studying  fine  things  to  say,  would  strike 
many  as  foolish,  and  betraying  vanity,  yet  I  see  not 
why  we  should  not  study  as  intently  to  talk  well  as  to 

write  well. 

(357) 


358  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 


have  the  "  table  talk"  of  Coleridge  and  Hazlitt 
and  many  other  great  men,  and  we  read  it  as  if  all  these 
pearls  and  gems  dropped  from  their  mouths  without 
any  previous  polishing,  when,  I  doubt  not,  they  were 
coined  and  moulded,  wrought  and  re-wrought,  with  as 
much  attention  and  skill,  as  anything  in  their  written 
productions  ;  and  as  what  is  said  with  the  living  voice 
is  much  more  impressive  than  what  is  written,  and  must 
therefore  be  more  potent  for  good  or  evil,  why  should 
we  not  study  what  we  say  ? 

Some  one  will  probably  answer  that  the  occasions 
for  conversation  suggest  the  subjects,  and  we  cannot 
know  whom  we  are  to  meet  or  what  they  may  say,  and 
therefore  cannot  be  prepared  with  topics  or  replies  for 
the  thousand  meetings  with  as  many  different  persons, 
to  which  we  are  liable.  Certainly  not,  but  there  are 
many  people  who  are  expected,  from  position,  or  edu 
cation,  or  circumstances,  to  introduce  subjects  for  con 
versation,  and  to  take  the  lead,  wherever  they  may  be, 
and  those  who  are  thus  promoted  should  be  able  to  talk 
"  to  edification,"  and  say  something  that  will  do  good, 
though  they  speak  but  a  few  moments,  and  with  those 
whom  they  are  never  to  meet  again. 

And  I  have  thought  upon  the  subject  with  special  re 
ference  to  the  education  of  woman.  I  have  even 
imagined  that  conversation  could  be  taught,  as  an  art, 
in  school,  and  young  ladies  prepared  for  a  sphere  of 


CONVERSATION    AS    AN    ART.  359 

usefulness  more  extensive  and  more  potent  than  any 
other  within  the  range  of  her  powers  or  of  her  acknow 
ledged  "  rights  and  privileges,"  and  I  fearlessly  add 
that  if  this  one  gift  were  cultivated  as  it  should  be,  and 
might  be,  neither  the  rostrum  nor  the  forum — if  they 
were  granted  to  her — would  open  a  field  of  usefulness 
at  all  to  be  compared  to  it. 

I  know  a  lady  who  cultivated  this  power,  and  used  it 
so  discreetly  and  effectively,  that  hundreds  acknow 
ledged  her  as  the  instrument  of  their  soul's  salvation. 

There  are  few  sentiments  which  pass  into  a  proverb 
without  some  foundation  in  truth,  but  would  that  there 
was  justice  in  the  universal  slur  cast  upon  the  garru- 
lousness  and  gossipping  propensities  of  women.  That 
they  talk,  and  talk  what  does  more  evil  than  good,  is 
the  reputation  they  have,  whether  they  are  entitled  to  it 
or  not.  But  it  is  time  they  were  redeemed  from  this 
latter  portion  of  the  aspersion,  and  there  is  no  way  of 
accomplishing  it,  but  by  making  the  art  of  conversation 
un  important  branch  of  her  education — something  to  be 
acquired  and  kept  in  view  as  a  most  effective  means  of 
usefulness. 

That  those  who  are  educated  will  make  this  use  of 
their  knowledge,  that  they  will  of  course  converse  about 
what  they  know,  are  not  inferences  we  are  justified  in 
drawing  from  past  experience.  The  young  ladies  who 
acquire  what  is  called  a  good  education  are  now  very 


360  THE    MYRTLE  WREATH. 

numerous,  and  yet  it  is  scarcely  less  proverbial  that  the 
majority  of  la'dies  "  talk  about  nothing." 

It  is  not  a  knowledge  of  books,  merely,  that  entitles 
the  posessor  to  be  considered  well-educated  or  culti 
vated,  nor  that  enables  her  to  teach  well  or  to  converse 
well.  I  have  heard  those  who  were  principals  of  semina 
ries,  and  constantly  applying  for  and  receiving  applica 
tions  for  teachers,  say,  that  there  were  few  whom  they 
could  recommend  or  employ  as  such.  They  had 
studied  enough,  but  they  had  not  incorporated  the 
thoughts  of  others  with  their  own — they  had  no  origin 
ality,  had  never  learned  to  think  for  themselves ;  and 
to  repeat  parrot-like  what  others  have  thought  and  said 
is  neither  interesting  nor  instructive. 

When  boys  are  in  school  and  college  they  look  for 
ward  with  certainty  to  a  profession,  and  are  continually 
reminded  of  the  use  they  are  to  make  of  what  they 
learn ;  they  are  continually  turning  it  over  and  thinking 
how  they  shall  make  it  the  instrument  of  promoting 
their  fortunes  or  their  fame,  and  so  it  becomes  a  por 
tion  of  them  ;  "  they  are  to  live  by  their  wits,"  while 
girls  are  too  apt  to  grow  up  with  the  impression  that 
their  success  depends  in  not  having  any  wits  at  all,  at 
least  in  not  making  use  of  them. 

It  has,  to  be  sure,  been  reiterated  in  their  ears  from 
time  immemorial,  that  "  there  is  no  sphere  so  important 
as  that  of  wife,  and  mother,  and  sister,  and  daughter," 


CONVERSATION   AS   AN    ART.  361 

and  yet,  incomprehensible  as  it  may  seem,  this  very  sel 
dom  influences  a  woman  to  attain  to  any  great  degree 
of  cultivation.  She  is  quite  as  sure  to  get  married  with 
out  it,  and  she  can  keep  house  and  take  care  of  chil 
dren  without  it.  When  they  ask  questions,  she  can 
say  "  hush,"  or  "  go  to  your  father,"  and  when  present 
where  there  is  intelligent  conversation  she  can  keep 
silent.  "Why  should  she  take  the  trouble  to  learn  what 
is  not  absolutely  necessary  to  her  getting  comfortably 
through  the  world  ? 

A  celebrated  writer  and  observer  has  remarked  that 
"  a  woman  to  maintain  her  influence,  must  either  look 
well  or  talk  well."  The  good  looks  do  not  always  de 
pend  on  herself,  but  to  talk  well  certainly  does.  There 
should  be  a  much  larger  proportion  of  time  spent  by 
school  girls  in  writing  and  talking — in  learning  to  ex 
press  their  own  thoughts  and  those  they  acquire. 

If  a  woman's  object  is  to  gain  admiration  merely, 
there  is  no  way  she  can  be  so  sure  of  doing  so,  as  by  an 
intelligent  and  animated  conversation.  There  is  no  way 
that  brilliant  talents  and  solid  acquirements  may  be  ex 
hibited  to  more  advantage,  and  most  surely  there  is  no 
way  in  which  good  seed  may  be  sown  in  the  heart  to 
spring  up  and  bear  fruit  a  hundred  and  a  thousand 
fold  as  by  "  a  word  in  season,"  which  is  "  like  apples  of 
gold  in  pictures  of  silver." 

Let  every  lady  before  going  to  a  tea-party  or  sewing 
16 


362  THE   MYRTLE  WREATH 

society  or  social  gathering,  decide  upon  one  or  many 
interesting  subjects  which  she  will  endeavor  to  intro 
duce  to  those  whom  it  may  become  her  duty  to  enter 
tain,  and  obtain  all  the  information  she  can  concerning 
them.  If  she  select  one  about  which  there  may  be  dif 
ferences  of  opinion,  let  her  revolve  in  her  mind  all  the 
thousand  and  ten  thousand  pros  and  cons  which  mny 
possibly  spring  up  in  the  minds  of  others,  and  thus  be 
come  familiar  with  the  process  of  arguing,  and  learn  to 
argue  fairly.  But  the  theme  must  not  only  be  well 
conned;  she  must  study  quite  as  assiduously  to  talk 
about  it  in  the  right  way,  lest  she  should  seerri  dictato 
rial  and  pedantic — as  if  she  were  reciting  a  book.  If 
every  lady  should  go  thus  prepared  what  an  amount  of 
small  talk  and  gossip  it  would  banish  from  social  circles, 
and  how  many  in  a  little  time  would  become  intelligent 
and  take  pleasure  in  mental  cultivation  who  now  make 
very  little  use  of  their  acquirements. 

I  have  seen  the  experiment  tried  in  schools,  and  very 
successfully,  of  devoting  two  or  three  hours  each  week 
to  conversation  cultivation,  if  I  may  coin  an  expression ; 
and  if  no  other  benefit  accrued,  it  impressed  upon  the 
minds  of  young  ladies  the  importance  of  training  their 
tongues  to  usefulness,  and  inspiring  them  with  ambition 
to  redeem  their  sex  from  the  accusations  now  so  univer 
sal,  of  insipidity  and  frivolity. 

Something  of  the  same  kind  might  be  instituted  in 


CONVERSATION    AS    AN    ART.  363 

families.  Mothers,  and  fathers  too,  might  thus  prepare 
their  daughters  to  be  "burning  and  shining  lights" in  a 
sphere  which  is  eminently  theirs. 

Oh !  how  many  times  have  I  blushed  with  shame  and 
indignation  to  hear  intelligent  men  complain  of  the 
tediousness  and  soul-sickness  they  felt  at  having  been 
obliged  for  so  long  a  time  to  entertain  ladies !  How 
many  do  I  know  who  talk  of  their  aversion  to  lowering 
themselves  to  the  understandings  and  capacities  of  wo 
men  !  Men  too,  who  would  deny,  if  asked  in  so  many 
words,  that  they  thought  woman  needed  any  greater 
facilities  for  education  or  cultivation,  or  that  she  had 
not  all  the  respect  and  honor  which  was  due  to,  or  that 
she  had  a  right  to  demand. 

It  is  not  true  that  she  is  sufficiently  honored  or  edu 
cated,  or  that  her  influence  is  sufficiently  appreciated 
in  her  own  quiet  sphere,  but  it  is  also  lamentably  true 
that  she  has  not  cultivated  rightly  and  made  the  best 
use  of  the  talents  which  God  has  given  her,  nor  made 
herself  worthy  of  the  respect  and  deference  she  claims. 

It  is  a  hackneyed  theme,  but  I  know  of  no  pther  way 
than  to  give  "line  upon  line  and  precept  upon  pre 
cept,"  "  here  a  little  and  there  a  little,"  in  hope  and 
earnest  prayer  that  some  of  it  will  prove  the  "  good 
seed"  in  u  fruitful  soil,"  and  in  due  time  yield  a  harvest 
which  shall  gladden  the  heart  of  the  sower,  and  testify 
to  the  glory  of  God. 


££  TTTIIAT  is  fame  to  a  heart  yearning  for  affec- 
V  V  tion,  and  finding  it  not  ?  It  is  like  the  vie: 
tor's  wreath  to  him  who  is  parched  with  fever,  and  long 
ing  for  the  one  cooling  draught — the  cup  of  cold 
water." 

This  was  the  language  of  one  who  had  been  crowned 
with  the  laurel  wreath  of  fame,  and  on  whom  was  lav 
ished  all  the  world  has  to  bestow  of  honor,  and  yet  her 
heart  hungered ! 

Is  she  happy  ?  is  a  question  I  have  often  asked,  con- 

(364) 


IS  SHE  HAPPY?  365 

cermng  one  who  is  walking  in  the  same  path,  and 
breathing  the  same  atmosphere  of  praise  and  adulation. 
I  sometimes  ask  her  if  it  is  enough  ?  if  this  is  sufficient 
for  her  woman's  heart?  and  she  answers  "yes."  But  I 
never  yet  believed  her  !  Why  those  tears  when  there  is 
no  visible  cause  ?  Why  does  she  start,  as  if  guilty,  when 
suddenly  roused  from  a  reverie  ?  Why  does  she  in 
stantly  assume  that  gay  and  careless  air,  lest  we  should 
know  that  she  is  ever  sad  ? 

I  have  seen  her  when  she  thought  no  eye  was  near, 
and  no  listening  ear  was  by,  with  her  face  buried  in  her 
hands,  and  the  hot  tears  falling  thick  and  fast,  while 
sobs  seemed  rending  her  bosom.  If  I  should  ask  her 
the  cause  of  her  weeping  she  would  answer  "  nothing," 
for  woman  must  not  speak  the  truth  concerning  her 
heart's  yearnings. 

And  there  are  those  who  envy  her — who  think  she 
glories  in  the  world's  homage,  and  loves  its  hollow 
praise.  Oh,  what  an  answer  would  her  heart  give  back, 
could  it  speak  from  its  hidden  depths !  Her  name  is  on 
every  tongue ;  but  to  her  it  is  only  mockery. 

The  unthinking  world  calls  her  cold  and  heartless —  * 
they  contemptuously  speak  of  her  as  one  who  prefers 
flattery  to  love — to  whom  the  breath  of  fame  is  sweeter 
than  the  gushings  of  affection.     She  smiles,  a  gay,  glad 
smile,  when  they  tell  her  of  the  crown  which  is  to  deck 


3GO  THE   MYRTLE  WEEATH. 

her  brow,  and  they  think  she  will  wear  it  proudly. 
They  know  not  how  her  soul  tramples  it  in  the  dust. 

"  Why  does  she  not  renounce  that  which  gives  her  no 
pleasure  ?" 

A  literary  man  in  his  advice  to  another,  concerning 
the  care  of  his  health,  says  :  "  However  happy  he  rnny 
be  in  the  domestic  circle,  he  must  have  something  else 
to  feed  his  temper  and  his  ambition  /" 

"  And  is  it  also  true  of  woman  ?"  "  No,"  I  fearlessly 
answer,  though  there  will  be  a  multitude  to  contradict 
rne.  Woman  needs  nothing  for  her  "  temper"  or  her 
"  ambition,"  if  there  is  enough  for  her  heart.  God  did 
not  make  man  and  woman  equal  and  alike  in  all  things 
— what  a  stupid  wrorld  it  would  have  been  if  he  had  ! 
"  There  are  diversities  of  gifts."  "What  is  lacking  in 
one,  is  made  up  in  the  other. 

But  it  is  true  that  woman  must  have  something  to 
feed  both  her  temper  and  ambition  unless  her  heart  is 
full  !  The  excitement  of  a  literary  life,  or  of  any  other 
which  affords  constant  occupation,  is  not  sufficient  for 
the  happiness  of  which  she  is  capable — for  which  "  her 
soul  hungers;"  but  it  preserves  her  elasticity  and  her 
usefulness ;  aye,  and  sometimes  saves  her  from  idiocy 
or  from  madness  ! 

"  Why  has  she  never  married  ?  This  is  woman's 
sphere,  and  the  duties  of  the  household  are  woman's 
duties,"  is  the  stereotyped  answer  to  all  this.  Yes,  but 


IS   SHE    HAPPY?  367 

they  are  duties  which  cannot  be  performed  with  any 
degree  of  acceptance  when  the  heart  is  not  engaged. 
Into  other  channels  the  heart  may  be  forced,  but  into  this 
never,  as  the  thousand  wretched  homes  into  which 
woman  has  come  with  only  her  head  and  hands  abun 
dantly  prove. 

"  Is  she  happy  ?"  No,  not  in  the  sense  in  which  you 
put  the  question  ;  but  she  is  too' true  a  woman  to  con 
sent  to  make  others  miserable,  by  taking  upon  her  vows 
which  she  can  never  fulfil — by  consenting  to  preside 
over  a  HOME,  while  her  heart  is  still  wandering — by 
attempting  to  diffuse  light  and  life  into  the  fireside  circle, 
when  her  own  bosom  is  without  the  love,  the  warmth- 
giving  element,  which  alone  can  link  in  harmony  the 
family  bonds. 

Oh,  how  happy  she  would  be,  and  how  happy  she 
could  make  others,  surrounded  by  those  in  whom  her 
affections  delighted.  How  congenial  to  her  would  be 
those  quiet  duties  and  gentle  offices  which  bless  a  home; 
"  but  there  is  a  God  in  heaven  who  says,  thou  mayest 
like  to  do  this,  but  thou  must  do  that." 

When  woman  reigns  in  any  other  empire  than  home, 
it  is  from  a  stern  necessity,  which  converts  her  into 
a  martyr.  But  it  is  to  the  restless,  weary  ones  of  earth, 
that  we  look  for  the  mighty  deeds  which  shake  the 
world  and  reform  society.  One  who  has  spent  his  life 
in  wandering  says,  "  nothing  is  ever  accomplished  in 


368  THE    MYRTLE  WREATH. 

the  world  by  the  happy  ;"  yet  there  are  some  whose 
high  sense  of  duty  bids  them  relinquish  the  happiness 
they  might  enjoy,  in  order  better  to  promote  the  good 
of  others ;  yet  there  are  many  more  who  are  driven 
forth,  else  they  would  never  go. 

Few,  very  few,  women  launch  voluntarily  on  the  sea 
where  pleasure  or  safety  depends  on  the  breath  of 
popular  favor.  It  is  with  the  hope  of  finding  anchorage 
for  the  tempest-tossed  bark — some  rock  which  will  give 
temporary  repose — but  it  is  far  from  being  the  beloved 
port.  And  let  those  who  are  in  the  midst  of  green 
fields  and  flowery  vales  envy  them  not  their  perilous 
resting-phco. 


0f 


BRIGHT  Snowflake !  in  wonder  I  gaze  on  thy  form, 
So  perfect  in  beauty,  thou  child  of  the  storm , 
And  the  vesture  so  spotless  which  ever  is  thine, 
Keminds  me  of  stars  which  more  gloriously  shine ; 
When  gilded  like  them,  with  the  sun's  ruddy  beam, 
As  brilliant  thy  glow  and  as  radiant  thy  gleam. 

But  where  art  thou  wandering,  bright  beautiful  one, 
And  why  art  thou  resting  here  pensive  and  lone  ? 
Thou  couldst  not  have  thought  to  come  strolling  this  way 

To  hear  from  a  damsel  some  flattering  lay  ; 
16*  (369) 


370  THE  MYRTLE  WREATH. 

Important  dispatches  mayhap  thou  dost  bear, 
Intended  to  gladden  a  lone  maiden's  ear  ? 
Commissioned  art  thou  like  the  carrier  dove  ? 
Then  welcome  to  me  is  thy  message  of  love, 
Whate'er  be  thy  mystery,  please  to  unfold, 
I  promise  the  secret  shall  never  be  told. 

"  Nay,  kind-hearted  maiden,"  then  said  the  Snowflako, 

"  I  came  not  so  cruelly  false  hopes  to  awake ; 

For  no  special  mission  hath  called  me  to  flee 

Prom  my  home  in  the  heavens,  to  linger  with  thee  ; 

I  came  not  to  rouse  thee  from  reverie  deep, 

Nor  disturb  the  gay  visions  of  morn's  dreamy  sleep, 

And  no  gift  of  love  nor  of  friendship  so  sweet 

Have  I  brought  thee,  a  smile  of  approval  to  meet, 

Having  long  been  a  rover  in  regions  of  space, 

I'm  seeking  just  now  for  a  tarrying  place, 

To  rest  me  awhile,  then  away  I  must  fly    .\ 

A  wanderer  free  in  the  bright  azure  sky." 

"  I  proffer  thee  shelter  and  gladly  would  learn, 
If  thou  wilt  relate  it  to  me  iif  return, 
Companion  of  ocean,  of  earth  and  of  air, 
Whate'er  thou  hast  seen  in  thy  roamings  afar." 


THE    SNOW-FLAKE.  371 

Then  answered  the  Flake,  "  I'm  not  always  of  snow, 

But  various  mutations  I  oft  undergo, — 

Sometimes  I  appear  as  a  light  drop  of  rain, 

Or  with  mist  of  the  morning  encircle  the  plain, 

And  borne  in  a  cloud  through  the  blue  atmosphere, 

Foreboding  a  tempest,  I  oft  times  appear, 

With  a  gale  from  the  north  for  my  Charioteer, 

And  often  at  eve  in  the  moon's  gentle  beam, 

A  glittering  pearl  in  her  radiant  gleam, 

But  ever  most  lonely  when  sprinkling  with  dew, 

The  soft  blushing  rose  bud  just  opening  to  view, 

And  ever  unwelcome  when  clattering  down, 

On  the  leaves  and  the  blossoms  a  merry  hail  stone. 

But  when  in  the  stream  on  the  sunny  hill  side, 

In  the  deep  ocean's  spray  or  the  billowy  tide, — 

In  a  thousand  bright  forms,  though  changing  my  name, 

In  all  my  identity  still  is  the  same  ! 

A  rover  so  fickle  so  free  and  so  fleet, 

How  wondrous  the  varied  adventures  I  meet. 

I  first  kaew  a  home  in  those  primitive  bowers 

By  innocence  wreathed,  and  I  danced  in  the  flowers, 

That  frost  never  blighted,  that  knew  no  decay, 

The  hues  of  whose  petals  ne'er  faded  away ; 

Where  the  songs  of  the  warblers  ne'er  hushed  on  my  ear 

For  the  cold  Autumn  winds,  nor  the  winter  so  drear, 


372  THE   MYRTLE  WREATH 

Where  hope  never  wavered  and  peace  never  fled, 

Nor  doubt  over  Eden  its  bitterness  shed. 

But  a  murmur  is  tempted  within  me  to  rise, 

As  back  to  those  moments  fond  memory  flies ; 

I  heard  the  destroyer  his  flatteries  speak — 

Saw  the  paleness  that  spread  o'er  the  loveliest  cheek, 

And  learned  that  our  joy  like  mankind's  had  been  riven, 

And  we  too  must  roam  out  of  Paradise  driven, — 

That  whether  on  earth  or  the  wide  spreading  sea, 

Must  be  doffing  our  robes  as  the  weather  might  be  1 

Till  then  I  had  Been  by  the  soft  breezes  fanned, 

And  knew  not  till  banished  that  beautiful  land, 

Of  the  hurricane  wild,  of  the  deluge  or  flood, 

Of  murderous  deed,  or  of  carnage  or  blood. 

I  floated  awhile  on  Mount  Ararat's  height; 

To  veil  from  old  Noah  the  welcoming  site, — 

When  the  waters  subsided,  the  valleys  were  dry, 

And  the  bright  bow  of  promise  was  set  in  the  sky, 

With  the  glittering  hosts  which  were  marshalled  that  day 

I  appeared,  clad  in  beauteous,  in  glorious  array, 

To  rival  in  splendor  the  sun  in  his  gold, 

And  the  stars  that  at  night  through  the  firmament  rolled. 

From  Babel's  proud  summit  I  gazed  o'9r  the  earth, 
When  a  thousand  strangp  tongues  to  confusion  gave 


THE  SNOW-FLAKE.  373 

Fainting  Hagar  I  saw  in  the  wilderness  stop, 

And  flew  to  her  fount  to  contribute  a  drop. 

My  honor  it  was  to  direct  on  its  way 

The  Israelite  host,  all  the  wearisome  day — 

Through  ethereal  regions  ascending  on  high, 

With  my  vapory  cloak  to  enshroud  Sinai, 

And  in  Jordan's  loved  stream  with  a  numerous  band, 

To  water  the  shores  of  the  long  promised  land. 

In  Solomon's  temple  where  often  I  strayed, 

I  heard  lute  and  harp,  and  the  psaltery  played, 

And  the  anthem's  deep  peal  through  its  arches  resound, 

While  the  loud  Hallelujah  was  echoed  around, 

And  I  left  not  the  land  of  my  home  and  my  birth, 

A  pilgrim  to  roam  o'er  the  desolate  Earth, 

Till  deep  lamentation  through  Judah  had  spread, 

And  the  song  of  her  triumph  forever  had  fled — 

Till  sorrow's  dart  cloud  to  Jerusalem  clung, 

And  the  minstrel  his  harp  on  the  willow  had  hung. 

I  rolled  in  the  waves  of  Genesaret's  sea, 

And  crested  the  ripples  of  deep  Gallilee ; 

I  have  been  with  the  Saviour  on  Olivet's  height, 

Till  his  locks  were  all  wet  with  the  dews  of  the  night ; 

With  him  hage  retired  to  Gethsemane's  bovvers — 

Heard  his  Spirit's  deep  groanings  in  solitude's  hours. 

Saw  the  agony  borne  for  a  suffering  world, 

\\  hen  the  traitor  came  forth,  with  lip  sneeringly  curled 


374  THE    MYRTLE    WREATH. 

And  a  cheek  that  was  blanched  with  the  smile  of  deceit 
And  the  kiss  of'  betrayal,  his  Master  to  greet. 
I  passed  by  the  hall  of  old  Rome's  haughty  lord, 
"Who  innocent  thousands  could  slay  at  his  word, 
Clad  in  vesture  of  purple,  of  silver  and  gold, 
That  covered  a  heart  to  base  perjury  sold, — 
By  deep  raging  passion  so  heated  his  brain, 
I  entered  not  there  for  I  knew  it  were  vain. 

In  the  caravan  throng  o'er  Arabian  sands, 

I  travelled  with  hordes  of  her  wandering  bands, 

As  borne  by  the  camel  who  willingly  strode, 

Through  the  untrodden  paths  with  his  ponderous  load, 

Then  Egypt,  whose  glory  hath  faded  away, 

Like  mist  of  the  morn  in  the  sun's  golden  ray, — • 

Her  story  famed  ruins  and  mouldering  tombs, 

And  recesses  deeper  of  pyramid  wombs, 

Attracted  me  there,  with  the  silvery  haze, 

To  shadow  their  grandeur  from  scrutiny's  gaze, 

The  smiling  Oasis  I  visited  too, 

To  enliven  a  spot  for  the  wayworn  to  view, — 

In  the  crystalline  fountain  to  gold  sands  below, 

A  mirror  I  granted  their  beauty  to  show. 

Then  borne  far  away  on  the  spicy  winged  breeze. 

I  sought  the  deep  caverns  of  India's  seas, 


THE    SNOW-FLAKE.  375 

To  learn  why  I'm  ever  compared  to  the  shell 
Where  an  insect  so  puny  hath  fashioned  its  cell. 
And  proud  I  have  been  to  be  called  like  the  pearl 
That  I  found  in  its  home  where  the  dark  eddies  curl. 

Long  I  lingered  and  dallied  in  Orient  bowers, 

In  the  loveliest  shades,  with  the  fairest  of  flowers, 

Where  the  cocoa  tree  waves  and  the  cinnamon  blooms, 

And  the  orange  exhales  all  its  richest  perfumes. 

On  the  plains  where  Bananas  so  fragrantly  rise, 

And  the  feathery  palm  spreads  its  leaves  to  the  skies, 

And  the  tropical  bird  with  its  many-hued  wings, 

In  the  echoing  forest  its  roundelay  sings; 

But  a  land  though  it  be  where  the  soft  zephyrs  blow 

T'is  limited  still  by  the  regions  of  snow  : 

W7hen  loitering  one  day  near  the  Boodh's  sacred  fount 

I  was  wafted  afar  to  proud  Himmalah's  mount, 

Yet  but  for  a  moment  I  rested  me  there, 

I  scarcely  could  breathe,  'twas  so  high  in  the  air  : 

To  ill-fated  Poland  away  then  I  flew, 

To  see  her  bow  down  to  her  conquerors  anew  ; 

To  see  the  proud  Russian  his  dark  banner  wave 

Over  Hungary  too,  o'er  a  people  more  brave, 

Than  stern  autocrat  were  e'er  given  to  thee, 

And  a  people  that  soon  from  their  yoke  will  be  free. 


376  THE    MYRTLE  WREATH. 

I  darted  from  thence  to  Alps'  towering  crest, 

And  added  new  lustre  to  Jura's  grey  vest, 

To  the  Switzer  I  granted  in  the  hour  of  need 

The  ambient  mist  for  his  flowery  mead, 

In  his  ivy  clad  fanes  e'er  delighting  to  dance, 

Then  I  tied  to  the  vine  covered  valley  of  France. 

Her  gay  festive  garlands  I  studded  with  gems, 

More  brilliant  than  shone  in  her  wrought  diadems, 

For  art  cannot  fashion  a  diamond  so  pure, 

As  the  clear  shining  drop  from  the  deep  fountain  ewer. 

Away  once  again  !  and  to  Scotia's  fair  scenes, 
How  dear  are  to  me  all  her  woody  ravines — 
Her  valleys,  her  moors,  and  her  heath  covered  hills, 
Her  wild  pouring  streams  and  her  murmuring  rills; 
I  loved  the  free  air  of  her  mountains  to  breathe — 
To  dance  on  the  lawns  of  the  valley  beneath — 
To  find  a  lone  haunt  in  the  dark  forest  glade, 
In  the  coppice  wood  green  or  the  light  beachen  yh 
In  the  wild  rushing  torrent  to  sparkle  and  foam, 
Or  find  in  Lochlomond's  bright  bosom  a  home. 

In  the  land  of  sweet  Erin  I  lingered  awhile 
To  survey  the  rich  vales  of  that  bonny  green  isle, 
Then  sped  to  Old  England  and  flew  to  the  tower, 
That  ages  have  hallowed  with  legend  and  lore — 


THE  SNOW-FLAKE.  377 

O'er  the  woodlands  and  dells  which  the  warrior  hath 

famed, 

Or  the  lay  of  the  minstrel  more  sweetly  hath  named, 
Through  the  valleys  and  wildwoods  familiar  and  dear, 
Through  the  tales  of  my  sisters  who  once  had  been  here, 
On  the  storied  Avon  I'm  proud  to  have  been, 
To  have  played  in  her  dimples  so  smiling  and  sheen ; 
On  her  borders  I  aided  the  daisy  to  bloom, 
And  bade  the  sweet  Jessamine  shed  its  perfume. 

In  the  wave  and  the  white  crested  ripple  I  rolled, 
And  the  primrose  I  kissed  on  its  chalice  of  gold, 
The  voice  of  rich  music  I  heard  in  those  hours  , 
From  the  bard  who  once  sung  in  those  fairy  wreathed 

bowers, 

And  the  brow  of  the  minstrel  whose  lays  never  die, 
And  the  soul  of  the  poet — that  gleam  of  the  eye, 
I  have  seen,  as  he  bent  o'er  the  crystal  expanse, 
To  watch  in  the  moonbeams  the  water  drops'  dance, 
And  the  blythe  laughing  spirit  of  whom  he  would  dream, 
Was  wooed  by  the  Avon's  soft  murmuring  stream, 
And  love  was  the  theme,  when  in  youth's  sunny  prime, 
This  poet  of  nature  first  whispered  in  rhyme. 

But  from  these  cherished  scenes  I  must  hasten  away, 
With  these  fond  recollections  no  longer  delay 


378  THE   MYRTLE  WREATH. 

For  thee  I  may  weary  protracting  so  long, 

This  sketch  of  my  wanderings  in  unlettered  song — 

I   might  lead  thee  to  Lapland,  where   moss   covered 

dome, 

Gives  master  and  reindeer  a  mutual  home — 
Through  lone  Russian  wilds,  and  Siberian  snows, 
Where  rages  the  storm,  and  the  fierce  tempest  blows ; 
To  the  far  polar  sea  where  a  stern  monarch  reigns, 
With  his  thick  hoary  locks  which  he  ever  retains, 
But  though  he  may  seem  so  unwilling  to  yield, 
To  the  hardy  explorer  his  broad  icy  field, 
He  has  only  to  find  him  in  spring's  smiling  mood, 
Or  when  summer's  untying  his  winter  drawn  hood, 
To  assume  unmolested  the  conqueror's  power, 
And  sail  on  his  way  to  the  Indian  shore. 

Oh  how  many  a  tale  in  thy  curious  ear, 
Could  I  whisper  to  strike  thee  with  terror  and  fear  ; 
What  tidings  could  bring  from  the  deep  ocean's  bed, 
And  the  earth's  rocking  centre  from  which  it  is  fed, 
Revealing  what  theorists  never  divine, 
And  confirming  what  savans  can  only  opine, 
For  its  windings  and  channels  I  roamed  ever  free, 
And  its  deepest  recesses  were  fathomed  by  me, 
O'er  its  thousand  green  islets  in  regions  unknown, 
I  was  by  the  breeze  and  the  hurricane  blown, 
Till  alighting  at  length  on  a  proud  vessel's  rnast, 


THE  SNOW-FLAKE.  379 

As  it  gallantly  sailed  o'er  the  watery  waste, 

On  the  shores  of  Columbia  by  chance  I  was  thrown, 

And  no  land  I've  yet  traversed,  can  rival  your  own  ! 

No  moss  covered  turrets  are  towering  here, 

"Which  in  tales  of  past  centuries  often  appear, — 

No  castles  in  ruins,  no  old  feudal  halls, 

No  palaces  rich  with  their  tapestried  walls, 

But  nature  has  strewn  with  munificent  hand, 

Profusely  her  charms  o'er  this  beautiful  land ! 

The  forest  how  grand  in  her  livery  drest ! 

The  mountain  how  stern  with  its  snowy  wreathed  crest! 

How  bright  is  the  streamlet  that  wakes  in  the  dell, 

Her  deep  rolling  rivers  how  proudly  they  swell ! 

For  ever  around  her  the  wild  ocean  roars, 

And  breaks  into  billows  along  her  green  shores. 

But  its  scenery  hath  changed,  since  I  first  wandered  o'er 

Its  mountains  and  valleys,  and  I  listen  no  more, 

To  the  wild  thrilling  song  of  a  people  who  then, 

Eoarned  as  monarchs  and  freemen  through  wild  wood 

and  glen ; 
They  have  fled   from  the  Mohawk    and    Delaware's 

shore, 

In  whose  dells  the  shrill  war-whoop  is  echoed  no  more, 
Their  spirits  are  crushed — they  are  wasting  away — 
By   the   breath  of  the  white  man  they're  doomed  to 


380  THE    MYRTLE  WllEATH. 

But  away !  the  wide  world  I  am  bidden  to  roam, 
And  must  linger  no  longer  with  thee  in  thy  home ; 
The  sun  has  arisen,  and  bids  me  depart, 
For  my  form  he  will  change  with  bis  magical  dart ! 
Ah,  would  there  were  hope  of  our  meeting  again, 
If  not  on  the  earth,  in  a  fairer  domain ; 
But  tempest  nor  storm,  in  that  world  you  will  share, 
And  I  know  not  that  even  the  dew-drop  is  there ! 
Of  all  the  frail  creatures  who  fell  by  his  sin, 
'Tis  man  who  alone  can  that  Paradise  win, — 
To  the  humble  believer  the  promise  is  given, 
Of  a  glorious  crown  with  the  ransomed  in  Heaven, 
May  it  rest  on  thy  brow  and  thy  form  be  arrayed, 
-In  those  "  white  shining  robes"  for  the  u  suffering1'  made, 
And  a  bright  golden  harp  be  attuned  by  thy  hand 
To  join  the  sweet  songs  of  the  glorified  band  1 


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